UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL 


JOAQUIN    MILLER 

AUTHOR  OF 

SONGS  OF  THE  SIERRAS,"  "  SONGS  OF  THE  SUNDOWN  SEAS, 
" SONGS  OF  ITALY,"  "SHADOWS  OF  SHASTA," 
"BUILDING  THE  ClTY  BEAUTI 
FUL,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


SAN   FRANCISCO 

THE  WHITAKER  &  RAY  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 

189G 


COPYRIGHTED,  189C 

BY 
C.  H.  MILLER 

(ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED) 


?s 

1337 


fc? 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

SAPPHO  AND  PHAON 9 

i 

^ 

SUNSET  AND  DAWN  IN  SAN  DIEGO 74 

^  A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER 95 

^ 
^\^  COLUMBUS      154 

•V  MOTHER  EGYPT 156 

JAVA,  1883 158 

THE  PASSING  OF  TENNYSON  .    .  161 


167078 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUL 


TO 
MOTHER 


Long  years,  lorn  years  apart,  alone, 
Despite  man's  rage  or  woman's  ruth, 

I  kept  my  cloud-capped  heights  of  stone 
To  watch  for  light,  to  toil  for  truth. 

And  oh,  the  voices  I  have  heard ! 

Such  visions  when  the  morning  grows  — 
A  brother's  soul  in  some  sweet  bird, 

A  sister's  spirit  in  a  rose. 

And  oh,  the  beauty  I  have  found ! 

Such  beauty,  beauty  everywhere; 
The  beauty  creeping  on  the  ground, 

The  beauty  singing  in  the  air. 

The  love  in  all,  the  good  in  all, 

The  God  in  all,  in  all  that  is; 
But  oh,  I  stumble  to  my  fall, 

To  try  to  tell  a  tithe  of  this ! 

Poor  falt'ring  tongue !   Each  rambling  tale, 
Save  here  and  there  a  ray  of  light, 

Reads  as  some  tavern  of  the  vale, 

Instead  of  God's  house  on  some  height. 

But  take  these  flowers;  tears  and  toil 
Have  meshed  them  in  most  sad  array; 

Yet  if  some  weed,  some  wood,  some  soil  .  .  . 
A  tear  may  wash  the  moil  away. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 


SONG    FIRST. 

"  In  the  beginning,  God  " 

When  God's  Spirit  moved  upon 

The  waters'  face,  and  vapors  curled 

Like  incense  o'er  deep-cradled  dawn 

That  dared  not  yet  the  mobile  world,- 

When  deep-cradled  dawn  uprose, 
Ere  the  baby  stars  were  born, 

When  the  end  of  all  repose 

Came  with  that  first  wondrous  morn, - 

In  the  morning  of  the  world 

When  light  was  —  a  giant  born  : 

0  that  morning  of  the  world, 

That  vast,  first  tumultuous  morn! 


10  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 


PART   FIRST. 

I. 

WHAT  is  there  in  a  dear  dove's  eyes, 

Or  voice  of  mated  melodies, 
That  tells  us  ever  of  blue  skies 

And  cease  of  deluge  on  Love's  seas? 
The  dove  looked  down  on  Jordan's  tide 
Well  pleased  with  Christ  the  Crucified; 

The  dove  was  hewn  in  Karnak  stone 

Before  fair  Jordan's  banks  were  known. 

The  dove  has  such  a  patient  look, 
I  read  rest  in  her  pretty  eyes 
As  in  the  Holy  Book. 

I  think  if  I  should  love  some  day  — 

And  may  I  die  when  dear  Love  dies  — 

Why,  I  would  sail  Francisco's  Bay 

And  seek  to  see  some  sea-dove's  eyes: 

To  see  her  in  her  air-built  nest, 

Her  wide,  warm,  restful  wings  at  rest; 
To  see  her  rounded  neck  reach  out, 
Her  eyes  lean  lovingly  about; 
And  seeing  this  as  love  can  see, 

I  then  should  know,  and  surely  know, 
That  love  sailed  on  with  me. 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  11 

II. 

See  once  this  boundless  bay  and  live, 
See  once  this  beauteous  bay  and  love, 

See  once  this  warm,  bright  bay  and  give 
God  thanks  for  olive  branch  and  dove. 

Then  take  Columbia's  sapphire  sea 

And  sail  and  sail  the  world  with  me. 

Some  isles,  drowned  in  the  drowning  sun, 
Ten  thousand  sea-doves  voiced  as  one; 
Lo!  love's  wings  furled  and  wings  unfurled; 

Who  sees  not  this  warm,  half-world  sea, 
Sees  not,  knows  not  the  world. 

How  knocks  he  at  the  Golden  Gate, 
This  lord  of  waters,  strong  and  bold, 

And  fearful-voiced  and  fierce  as  fate, 
And  hoar  and  old,  as  Time  is  old; 

Yet  young  as  when  God's  finger  lay 

Against  Night's  forehead  that  first  day, 
And  drove  vast  Darkness  forth,  and  rent 
The  waters  from  the  firmament. 
Hear  how  he  knocks  and  raves  and  loves! 

He  wooes  us  through  the  Golden  Gate 
With  all  his  soft  sea-doves. 

And  on  and  on,  up,  down,  and  on, 

The  sea  is  oily  grooves;  the  air 
Is  as  your  bride's  sweet  breath  at  dawn 

When  all  your  ardent  youth  is  there. 


12  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

And  oh,  the  rest!  and  oh,  the  room! 

And  oh,  the  sensuous  sea  perfume! 
Yon  new  moon  peering  as  we  passed 
Has  scarce  escaped  our  topmost  mast. 
A  porpoise,  wheeling  restlessly, 

Quick  draws  a  bright,  black,  dripping  blade, 
Then  sheathes  it  in  the  sea. 


Vast,  half- world,  wondrous  sea  of  ours! 

Dread,  unknown  deep  of  all  sea  deeps! 
What  fragrance  from  thy  strange  sea-flowers 

Deep-gardened  where  God's  silence  keeps! 
Thy  song  is  silence,  and  thy  face 
Is  God's  face  in  His  holy  place. 

Thy  billows  swing  sweet  censer  foam, 

Where  stars  hang  His  cathedral's  dome. 

Such  blue  above,  below  such  blue! 
These  burly  winds  so  tall,  they  can 
Scarce  walk  between  the  two. 

Such  room  of  sea!     Such  room  of  sky! 
Such  room  to  draw  a  soul-full  breath! 

Such  room  to  live!     Such  room  to  die! 
Such  room  to  roam  in  after  death! 

White  room,  with  sapphire  room  set  'round, 

And  still  beyond  His  room  profound; 

Such  room-bound  boundlessness  o'erhead 
As  never  has  been  writ  or  said 
Or  seen,  save  by  the  favored  few, 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  13 

Where  kings  of  thought  play  chess  with  stars 
Across  their  board  of  blue. 


III. 

The  proud  ship  wrapped  her  in  the  red 
That  hung  from  heaven,  then  the  gray, 

The  soft  dove-gray  that  shrouds  the  dead 
And  prostrate  form  of  perfumed  day. 

Some  noisy,  pygmy  creatures  kept 

The  deck  a  spell,  then,  leaning,  crept 
Apart  in  silence  and  distrust, 
Then  down  below  in  deep  disgust. 
An  albatross, —  a  shadow  cross 

Hung  at  the  head  of  buried  day, — 
At  foot  the  albatross. 

Then  came  a  warm,  soft,  sultry  breath  — 
A  weary  wind  that  wanted  rest; 

A  wind  as  from  some  house  of  death 

With  flowers  heaped;  as  from  the  breast 

Of  such  sweet  princess  as  had  slept 

Some  thousand  years  embalmed,  and  kept, 
In  fearful  Karnak's  tomb-hewn  hill, 
Her  perfume  and  spiced  sweetness  still, — 
Such  breath  as  bees  droop  down  to  meet, 

And  creep  along  lest  it  may  melt 
Their  honey-laden  feet. 


14  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

The  captain's  trumpet  smote  the  air! 

Swift  men,  like  spiders  up  a  thread, 
Swept  suddenly.     Then  masts  were  bare 

As  when  tall  poplars'  leaves  are  shed, 
And  ropes  were  clamped  and  stays  were  clewed. 
'T  was  as  when  wrestlers,  iron-thewed, 

Gird  tight  their  loins,  take  full  breath, 

And  set  firm  face,  as  fronting  death. 

Three  small  brown  birds,  or  gray,  so  small, 
So  ghostly  still  and  swift  they  passed, 
They  scarce  seemed  birds  at  all. 

Then  quick,  keen  saber-cuts,  like  ice; 
Then  sudden  hail,  like  battle-shot. 

Then  two  last  men  crept  down  like  mice, 
And  man,  poor  pygmy  man,  was  not. 

The  great  ship  shivered,  as  with  cold, 

An  instant  staggered  back,  then  bold 
As  Theodosia,  to  her  waist 
In  waters,  stood  erect  and  faced 
Black  thunder;  and  she  kept  her  way 

And  laughed  red  lightning  from  her  face 
As  on  some  summer's  day. 

The  black  sea-horses  rode  in  row; 

Their  white  manes  tossing  to  the  night 
But  made  the  blackness  blacker  grow 

From  flashing,  phosphorescent  light. 
And  how  like  hurdle  steeds  they  leapt! 
The  low  moon  burst;  the  black  troop  swept 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  15 

Right  through  her  hollow,  on  and  on. 
A  wave-wet  scimiter  was  drawn, 
Flashed  twice,  flashed  thrice  triumphantly; 
But  still  the  steeds  dashed  on,  dashed  on, 
And  drowned  her  in  the  sea. 


What  headlong  winds  that  lost  their  way 

At  sea,  and  wailed  out  for  the  shore! 
How  shook  the  orient  doors  of  day 

With  all  this  mad,  tumultuous  roar! 
Black  clouds,  shot  through  with  stars  of  red; 
Strange  stars,  storm-born  and  fire  fed; 

Lost  stars  that  came,  and  went,  and  came; 

Such  stars  as  never  yet  had  name. 

The  far  sea-lions  on  their  isles 
Upheaved  their  huge  heads  terrified, 
And  moaned  a  thousand  miles. 

What  fearful  battle-field!     What  space 
For  light  and  darkness,  flame  and  flood! 

Lo!  Light  and  Darkness,  face  to  face, 
In  battle  harness  battling  stood! 

And  how  the  surged  sea  burst  upon 

The  granite  gates  of  Oregon! 

It  tore,  it  tossed  the  seething  spume, 

And  wailed  for  room!  and  room!  and  room! 

It  shook  the  crag-built  eaglets'  nest 

Until  they  screamed  from  out  their  clouds, 
Then  rocked  them  back  to  rest. 


16  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

How  fiercely  reckless  raged  the  war! 

Then  suddenly  no  ghost  of  light, 
Or  even  glint  of  storm-born  star. 

Just  night,  and  black,  torn  bits  of  night; 
Just  night,  and  midnight's  middle  noon. 
With  all  mad  elements  in  tune; 

Just  night,  and  that  continuous  roar 

Of  wind,  wind,  night,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  all  the  hollows  of  the  main 
Sank  down  so  deep,  it  almost  seemed 
The  sea  was  hewn  in  twain. 

How  deep  the  hollows  of  this  deep! 

How  high,  how  trembling  high  the  crest! 
Ten  thousand  miles  of  surge  and  sweep 

And  length  and  breadth  of  billow's  breast! 
Up!  up,  as  if  against  the  skies! 
Down!  down,  as  if  no  more  to  rise! 

The  creaking  wallow  in  the  trough, 

As  if  the  world  was  breaking  off. 

The  pygmies  in  their  trough  down  there! 
Deep  in  their  trough  they  tried  to  pray — 
To  hide  from  God  in  prayer. 

Then  boomed  Alaska's  great,  first  gun 
In  battling  ice  and  rattling  hail; 

Then  Indus  came,  four  winds  in  one! 
Then  came  Japan  in  counter  mail 

Of  mad  cross  winds;  and  Waterloo 

Was  but  as  some  babe's  tale  unto. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  17 

The  typhoon  spun  his  toy  in  play 
And  whistled  as  a  glad  boy  may 
To  see  his  top  spin  at  his  feet: 
The  captain  on  his  bridge  in  ice, 
His  sailors  mailed  in  sleet. 


What  unchained,  unnamed  noises,  space! 

What  shoreless,  boundless,  rounded  reach 
Of  room  was  here!     Fit  field,  fit  place 

For  three  fierce  emperors,  where  each 
Came  armed  with  elements  that  make 
Or  unmake  seas  and  lands,  that  shake 

The  heavens'  roof,  that  freeze  or  burn 

The  seas  as  they  may  please  to  turn. 

And  such  black  silence!     Not  a  sound 
Save  whistling  of  that  mad,  glad  boy 
To  see  his  top  spin  round. 

Then  swift,  like  some  sulked  Ajax,  burst 
Thewed  Thunder  from  his  battle-tent; 

As  if  in  pent-up,  vengeful  thirst 

For  blood,  the  veins  of  Earth  were  rent, 

And  sheeted  crimson  lay  a  wedge 

Of  blood  below  black  Thunder's  edge. 

A  pause.     The  typhoon  turned,  upwheeled, 
And  wrestled  Death  till  heaven  reeled. 
Then  Lightning  reached  a  fiery  rod, 

And  on  Death's  fearful  forehead  wrote 
The  autograph  of  God. 


18  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

IV. 

God's  name  and  face  —  what  need  of  more? 
Morn  came:  calm  came,  and  holy  light, 

And  warm,  sweet  weather,  leaning  o'er, 
Laid  perfumes  on  the  tomb  of  night. 

The  three  wee  birds  came  dimly  back 

And  housed  about  the  mast  in  black, 
And  all  the  tranquil  sense  of  morn 
Seemed  as  Dakota's  fields  of  corn, 
Save  that  some  great  soul-breaking  sigh 

Now  sank  the  proud  ship  out  of  sight, 
Now  sent  her  to  the  sky. 

V. 

One  strong,  strange  man  had  kept  the  deck — 
One  silent,  seeing  man,  who  knew 

The  pulse  of  Nature,  and  could  reck 

Her    deepest    heart-beats     through    and 
through. 

He  knew  the  night,  he  loved  the  night. 

When  elements  went  forth  to  fight 

His  soul  went  with  them  without  fear 
To  hear  God's  voice,  so  few  will  hear. 
The  swine  had  plunged  them  in  the  sea, 

The  swine  down  there,  but  up  on  deck 
The  captain,  God  and  he. 


SAPPHO    AND   PHAON.  19 

VI. 

And  oh,  such  sea-shell  tints  of  light 

High  o'er  those  wide  sea-doors  of  dawn! 
Sail,  sail  the  world  for  that  one  sight, 

Then  satisfied,  let  time  begone. 
The  ship  rose  up  to  meet  that  light, 

Bright  candles,  tipped  like  tasseled  corn, 

The  holy  virgin,  maiden  morn, 
Arrayed  in  woven  gold  and  white. 

Put  by  the  harp  —  hush  minstrelsy; 
Nor  bard  or  bird  has  yet  been  heard 
To  sing  this  scene,  this  sea. 

VII. 

Such  light!  such  liquid,  molten  light! 

Such  mantling,  healthful,  heartful  morn! 
Such  morning  born  of  such  mad  night! 

Such  night  as  never  had  been  born! 
The  man  caught  in  his  breath,  his  face 
Was  lifted  up  to  light  and  space; 

His  hand  dashed  o'er  his  brow,  as  when 

Deep  thoughts  submerge  the  souls  of  men; 

And  then  he  bowed,  bowed  mute,  appalled 
At  memory  of  scenes,  such  scenes 
As  this  swift  morn  recalled. 

He  sought  the  ship's  prow,  as  men  seek 

The  utmost  limit  for  their  feet, 
To  lean,  look  forth,  to  list  nor  speak, 

Nor  turn  aside,  nor  yet  retreat 


20  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

One  inch  from  this  far  vantage-ground, 
Till  he  had  pierced  the  dread  profound 
And  proved  it  false.     And  yet  he  knew 
Deep  in  his  heart  that  all  was  true; 
So  like  it  was  to  that  first  dawn 
When  God  had  said,  "  Let  there  be  light," 
And  thus  he  spake  right  on: 

"  My  soul  was  born  ere  light  was  born, 

When  blackness  was,  as  this  black  night. 

And  then  that  morn,  as  this  sweet  morn! 
That  sudden  light,  as  this  swift  light! 

I  had  forgotten.     Now,  I  know 

The  travail  of  the  world,  the  low, 
Dull  creatures  in  the  sea  of  slime 
That  time  committed  unto  time, 
As  great  men  plant  oaks  patiently, 

Then  turn  in  silence  unto  dust 

And  wait  the  coming  tree. 

"  That  long,  lorn  blackness,  seams  of  flame, 
Volcanoes  bursting  from  the  slime, 

Huge,  shapeless  monsters  without  name 
Slow  shaping  in  the  loom  of  time; 

Slow  weaving  as  a  weaver  weaves; 

So  like  as  when  some  good  man  leaves 
His  acorns  to  the  centuries 
And  waits  the  stout  ancestral  trees. 
But  ah,  so  piteous,  memory 

Reels  back,  as  sickened,  from  that  scene — 
It  breaks  the  heart  of  me! 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  21 

''Volcanoes  crying  out  for  light! 

The  very  slime  found  tongues  of  fire! 

Huge  monsters  climbing  in  their  might 
O'er  submerged  monsters  in  the  mire 

That  heaved  their  slimy  mouths,  and  cried 

And  cried  for  light,  and  crying  died. 
How  all  that  wailing  through  the  air 
But  seems  as  some  unbroken  prayer, 
One  ceaseless  prayer  that  long  night 

The  world  lay  in  the  loom  of  time 
And  waited  so  for  light! 

"And  I,  amid  those  monsters  there, 

A  grade  above,  or  still  below? 
Nay,  Time  has  never  time  to  care, 

And  I  can  scarcely  dare  to  know. 
I  but  remember  that  one  prayer; 
Ten  thousand  wide  mouths  in  the  air, 

Ten  thousand  monsters  in  their  might, 

All  eyeless,  looking  up  for  light. 

We  prayed,  we  prayed  as  never  man, 
By  sea  or  land,  by  deed  or  word, 

Has  prayed  since  light  began. 

"  Great  sea-cows  laid  their  fins  upon 
Low-floating  isles,  as  good  priests  lay 

Two  holy  hands,  at  early  dawn, 
Upon  the  altar-cloth  to  pray. 

Aye,  ever  so,  with  lifted  head, 

Poor,  slime-born  creatures  and  slime-bred, 


22  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

We  prayed.     Our  sealed-up  eyes  of  night 
All  lifting,  lifting  up  for  light. 
And  I  have  paused  to  wonder,  when 
This  world  will  pray  as  we  then  prayed, 
What  God  may  not  give  men! 


"  Hist!     Once  I  saw, — What  was  I  then? 

Ah,  dim  and  devious  the  light 
Conies  back,  but  I  was  not  of  men. 

And  it  is  only  such  black  night 
As  this,  that  was  of  war  and  strife 
Of  elements,  can  wake  that  life, 

That  life  in  death,  that  black  and  cold 

And  blind  and  loveless  life  of  old. 

But  hear!     I  saw  —  heed  this  and  learn 
How  old,  how  holy  old  is  Love, 
However  Time  may  turn: 

"  I  saw,  I  saw,  or  somehow  felt, 

A  sea-cow  mother  nurse  her  young. 

I  saw,  and  with  thanksgiving  knelt, 
To  see  her  head,  low,  loving,  hung 

Above  her  nursling.     Then  the  light, 

The  lovelight  from  those  eyes  of  night! 
I  say  to  you  't  was  lovelight  then 
That  first  lit  up  the  eyes  of  men. 
I  say  to  you  lovelight  was  born 

Ere  God  laid  hand  to  clay  of  man, 
Or  ever  that  first  morn. 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  23 

"  What  though  a  monster  slew  her  so, 

The  while  she  bowed  and  nursed  her  young? 

She  leaned  her  head  to  take  the  blow, 
And  dying,  still  the  closer  clung — 

And  dying  gave  her  life  to  save 

The  helpless  life  she  erstwhile  gave, 
And  so  sank  back  below  the  slime, 
A  torn  shred  in  the  loom  of  time. 
The  one  thing  more  I  needs  must  say, 

That  monster  slew  her  and  her  young; 
But  Love  he  could  not  slay." 


24  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

SONG   SECOND. 

"  And  God  said,  Let  there  be  light." 

Rise  up !     How  brief  this  little  day ! 

We  can  but  kindle  some  dim  light 
Here  in  the  darkened,  wooded  way 

Before  the  gathering  of  night. 
Come,  let  us  kindle  it.     The  dawn 
Shall  find  us  tenting  farther  on. 

Come,  let  us  kindle  ere  we  go — 

We  know  not  where ;  but  this  we  know . 

Night  cometh  on,  and  man  needs  light. 
Come  !  camp-fire  embers,  ere  we  grope 
Yon  gray  archway  of  night. 

Life  is  so  brief,  so  very  brief, 

So  rounded  in,  we  scarce  can  see 

The  fruitage  grown  above  the  leaf 
And  foliage  of  a  single  tree 

In  all  God's  garden ;  yet  we  know 

That  goodly  fruits  must  grow  and  grow 
Beyond  our  vision.      We  but  stand 
In  some  deep  hollow  of  God's  hand, 
Hear  some  sweet  bird  its  little  day, 

See  cloud  and  sun  a  season  pass, 

And  then,  sweet  friend,  away ! 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  25 

Clouds  pass,  they  come  again ;  and  we, 
Are  we,  then,  less  than  these  to  God? 

Oh,  for  the  stout  faith  of  a  tree 

That  drops  its  small  seeds  to  the  sod, 

Safe  in  the  hollow  of  God's  hand, 

And  knows  that  perish  from  the  land 

It  shall  not !     Yea,  this  much  ive  know, 
That  each,  as  best  it  can,  shall  grow 
As  God  has  fashioned,  fair  or  plain, 

To  do  its  best  in  cloud  or  sun, 

Or  in  His  still,  small  rain. 

Oh,  good  to  see  is  faith  in  God  ! 

Bat  better  far  is  faith  in  good  : 
The  one  seems  but  a  sign,  a  nod, 

The  one  seems  God's  own  flesh  arid  blood. 

/How  manyjnames  of  God  are_sung!f 
But  good  is  good  in^very__tpngue.^ 
And  this  the  light,  the  Holy  Light 
That  leads  thro' nigjit^  and  night  and  night; 
Thro'  nights  named  Death,  that  lie  between 
The  days  named  Life,  the  ladder  round 
Unto  the  Infinite  Unseen. 


26  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

PART   SECOND. 
I. 

THE  man  stood  silent,  peering  past 
His  utmost  verge  of  memory. 

What  lay  beyond,  beyond  that  vast 
Bewildering  darkness  and  dead  sea 

Of  noisome  vapors  and  dread  night  ? 

No  light!  not  any  sense  of  light 

Beyond  that  life  when  Love  was  born 
On  that  first,  far,  dim  rim  of  morn: 
No  light  beyond  that  beast  that  clung 

In  darkness  by  the  light  of  love 

And  died  to  save  her  young. 

And  yet  we  know  life  must  have  been 
Before  that  dark,  dread  life  of  pain; 

Life  germs,  love  germs  of  gentle  men, 
So  small,  so  still;  as  still,  small  rain. 

But  whence  this  life,  this  living  soul, 

This  germ  that  grows  a  godlike  whole  ? 
I  can  but  think  of  that  sixth  day 
When  God  first  set  His  hand  to  clay. 
And  did  in  His  own  image  plan 

A  perfect  form,  a  manly  form, 
A  comely,  godlike  man. 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  27 

II. 

Did  soul  germs  grow  down  in  the  deeps, 
The  while  God's  Spirit  moved  upon 

The  waters?     High-built  Lima  keeps 
A  rose- path,  like  a  ray  of  dawn; 

And  simple,  pious  peons  say 

Sweet  Santa  Rosa  passed  that  way; 
And  so,  because  of  her  fair  fame 
And  saintly  face,  these  roses  came. 
Shall  we  not  say,  ere  that  first  morn, 

When  God  moved,  garmented  in  mists, 
Some  sweet  soul  germs  were  born? 

III. 

The  strange,  strong  man  still  kept  the  prow; 

He  saw,  still  saw  before  light  was, 
The  dawn  of  love,  the  huge  sea-cow, 

The  living  slime,  love's  deathless  laws. 
He  knew  love  lived,  lived  ere  a  blade 
Of  grass,  or  ever  light  was  made; 

And  love  was  in  him,  of  him,  as 

The  light  was  on  the  sea  of  glass. 

It  made  his  heart  great,  and  he  grew 
To  look  on  God  all  unabashed; 
To  look  lost  eons  through. 

IV. 

Illuming  love!  what  talisman! 

That  Word  which  makes  the  world  go  'round  t 


28  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

That  Word  which  bore  worlds  in  its  plan! 

That  Word  which  was  the  Word  profound! 
That  Word  which  was  the  great  First  Cause, 
Before  light  was,  before  sight  was! 
I  would  not  barter  love  for  gold 
Enough  to  fill  a  tall  ship's  hold; 
Nay,  not  for  great  Victoria's  worth — 
So  great  the  sun  sets  not  upon 
In  all  his  round  of  earth. 

I  would  not  barter  love  for  all 

The  silver  spilling  from  the  moon; 

I  would  not  barter  love  at  all 

Though  you  should  coin  each  afternoon 

Of  gold  for  centuries  to  be, 

And  count  the  coin  all  down  as  free 

As  conqueror  fresh  home  from  wars, — 
Coin  sunset  bars,  coin  heaven-born  stars, 
Coin  all  below,  coin  all  above, 

Count  all  down  at  my  feet,  yet  I  — 
I  would  not  barter  love. 


V. 

The  lone  man  started,  stood  as  when 

A  strong  man  hears,  yet  does  not  hear. 

He  raised  his  hand,  let  fall,  and  then 
Quick  arched  his  hand  above  his  ear 

And  leaned  a  little;  yet  no  sound 

Broke  through  the  vast,  serene  profound. 


SAPPHO    AND   PHAON.  29 

Man's  soul  first  knew  some  telephone 
In  sense  and  language  all  its  own. 
The  tall  man  heard,  yet  did  not  hear; 
He  saw  and  yet  he  did  not  see 
A  fair  face  near  and  dear. 


Yet  there,  half  hiding,  crouching  there 
Against  the  capstan,  coils  on  coils 

Of  rope,  some  snow  still  in  her  hair, 
Like  Time,  too  eager  for  his  spoils, 

Was  such  fair  face  raised  to  his  face 

As  only  dream  of  dreams  give  place; 
Such  shyness,  boldness,  seashell  tint, 
Such  book  as  only  God  may  print, 
Such  tender,  timid,  holy  look 

Of  startled  love  and  trust  and  hope, — 
A  gold-bound  story-book. 

And  while  the  great  ship  rose  and  fell. 
Or  rocked  or  rounded  with  the  sea, 

He  saw, — a  little  thing  to  tell, 
An  idle,  silly  thing,  maybe, — 

Where  her  right  arm  was  bent  to  clasp 

Her  robe's  fold  in  some  closer  clasp, 
A  little  isle  of  melting  snow 
That  round  about  and  to  and  fro 
And  up  and  down  kept  eddying. 

It  told  so  much,  that  idle  isle, 
Yet  such  a  little  thing. 


30  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

It  told  she,  too,  was  of  a  race 

Born  ere  the  baby  stars  were  born; 

She,  too,  familiar  with  God's  face, 
Knew  folly  but  to  shun  and  scorn; 

She,  too,  all  night  had  sat  to  read 

By  heaven's  light,  to  hear,  to  heed 
The  awful  voice  of  God,  to  grow 
In  thought,  to  see,  to  feel,  to  know 
The  harmony  of  elements 

That  tear  and  toss  the  sea  of  seas 
To  foam-built  battle-tents. 

He  saw  that  drifting  isle  of  snow, 

As  some  lorn  miner  sees  bright  gold 

Seamed  deep  in  quartz,  and  joys  to  know 
That  here  lies  hidden  wealth  untold. 

And  now  his  head  was  lifted  strong, 

As  glad  men  lift  the  head  in  song. 

He  knew  she,  too,  had  spent  the  night 
As  he,  in  all  that  wild  delight 
Of  tuneful  elements;  she,  too, 

He  knew,  was  of  that  olden  time 
Ere  oldest  stars  were  new. 


VI. 

Her  soul's  ancestral  book  bore  date 
Beyond  the  peopling  of  the  moon, 

Beyond  the  day  when  Saturn  sate 
In  royal  cincture,  and  the  boon 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  31 

Of  light  and  life  bestowed  on  stars 

And  satellites;  when  martial  Mars 

Waxed  red  with  battle  rage,  and  shook 

The  porch  of  heaven  with  a  look; 

When  polar  ice-shafts  propt  gaunt  earth, 

And  slime  was  but  the  womb  of  time, 
That  knew  not  yet  of  birth. 

VII. 

To  be  what  thou  wouldst  truly  be, 
Be  bravely,  truly,  what  thou  art. 

The  acorn  houses  the  huge  tree, 

And  patient,  silent  bears  its  part, 

And  bides  the  miracle  of  time. 

For  miracle,  and  more  sublime 
It  is  than  all  that  has  been  writ, 
To  see  the  great  oak  grow  from  it. 
But  thus  the  soul  grows,  grows  the  heart, — 

To  be  what  thou  wouldst  truly  be, 
Be  truly  what  thou  art. 

To  be  what  thou  wouldst  truly  be, 

Be  true.     God's  finger  sets  each  seed, 
Or  when  or  where  we  may  not  see; 

But  God  shall  nourish  to  its  need 
Each  one,  if  but  it  dares  be  true; 
To  do  what  it  is  set  to  do. 

Thy  proud  soul's  heraldry?     'Tis  writ 

In  every  gentle  action;  it 


32  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

Can  never  be  contested.    Time 
Dates  thy  brave  soul's  ancestral  book 
From  thy  first  deed  sublime. 

VIII. 

Wouldst  learn  to  love  one  little  flower, 
Its  perfume,  perfect  form  and  hue? 

Yea,  wouldst  thou  have  one  perfect  hour 
Of  all  the  years  that  come  to  you? 

Then  grow  as  God  hath  planted,  grow 

A  lordly  oak  or  daisy  low, 

As  He  hath  set  His  garden;  be 
Just  what  thou  art,  or  grass  or  tree. 
Thy  treasures  up  in  heaven  laid 

Await  thy  sure  ascending  soul, 

Life  after  life, — be  not  afraid! 

IX. 

Wouldst  know  the  secrets  of  the  soil? 

Wouldst  have  Earth  bare  her  breast  to  you  ? 
Wouldst  know  the  sweet  rest  of  hard  toil? 

Be  true,  be  true,  be  ever  true! 
Ah  me,  these  self-made  cuts  of  wrong 
That  hew  men  down!     Behold  the  strong 

And  comely  Adam  bound  with  lies 

And  banished  from  his  paradise! 

The  serpent  on  his  belly  still 
Eats  dirt  through  all  his  piteous  days, 
Do  penance  as  he  will. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  33 

Poor,  heel-bruised,  prostrate,  tortuous  snake! 

What  soul  crawls  here  upon  the  ground? 
God  willed  this  soul  at  birth  to  take 

The  round  of  beauteous  things,  the  round 
Of  earth,  the  round  of  boundless  skies. 
It  lied,  and  lo!  how  low  it  lies! 

What  quick,  sleek  tongue  to  lie  with  here! 

Wast  thou  a  broker  but  last  year? 

Wast  known  to  fame,  wast  rich  and  proud? 
Didst  live  a  lie  that  thou  mightst  die 
With  pockets  in  thy  shroud? 

X. 

Be  still,  be  pitiful!  that  soul 

May  yet  be  rich  in  peace  as  thine. 

Yea,  as  the  shining  ages  roll 

That  rich  man's  soul  may  rise  and  shine 

Beyond  Orion;  yet  may  reel 

The  Pleiades  with  belts  of  steel 

That  compass  commerce  in  their  reach; 
May  learn  and  learn,  and  learning,  teach, 
The  while  his  soul  grows  grandly  old, 

How  nobler  far  to  share  a  crust 

Than  hoard  car-loads  of  gold ! 

XI. 

Oh,  but  to  know;  to  surely  know 
How  strangely  beautiful  is  light! 


34  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

How  just  one  gleam  of  light  will  glow 
And  grow  more  beautifully  bright 

Than  all  the  gold  that  ever  lay 

Below  the  wide-arched  Milky  Way! 

"  Let  there  be  light!"  and  lo!  the  burst 
Of  light  in  answer  to  the  first 
Command  of  high  Jehovah's  voice! 

Let  there  be  light  for  man  to-night, 
That  all  men  may  rejoice. 

XII- 

The  little  isle  of  ice  and  snow 

That  in  her  gathered  garment  lay, 
And  dashed  and  drifted  to  and  fro 

Unhindered  of  her,  went  its  way; 
And  then  the  warm  winds  of  Japan 
Were  with  them,  and  the  silent  man 
Sat  with  her,  saying,  hearing  naught, 
Yet  seeing,  noting  all;  as  one 
Sees  not,  yet  all  day  sees  the  sun. 
He  knew  her  silence,  heeded  well 
Her  dignity  of  idle  hands 

In  this  deep,  tranquil  spell. 

XIII. 

The  true  soul  surely  knows  its  own, 

Deep  down  in  this  man's  heart  he  knew, 

Somehow,  somewhere  along  the  zone 
Of  time,  his  soul  should  come  unto 


SAPPHO    AND   PHAON.  35 

Its  safe  seaport,  some  pleasant  land 
Of  rest  where  she  should  reach  a  hand. 
He  had  not  questioned  God.     His  care 
Was  to  be  worthy,  fit  to  share 
The  glory,  peace,  and  perfect  rest, 
Come  how  or  when  or  where  it  comes, 
As  God  in  time  sees  best. 

Her  face  reached  forward,  not  to  him, 

But  forward,  upward,  as  for  light; 
For  light  that  lay  a  silver  rim 

Of  sea-lit  whiteness  more  than  white. 
The  vast,  full  morning  poured  and  spilled 
Its  splendor  down,  and  filled  and  filled 

And  overfilled  the  heaped-up  sea 

With  silver  molten  suddenly. 

The  night  lay  trenched  in  her  meshed  hair; 
The  tint  of  sea-shells  left  the  sea 
To  make  her  more  than  fair. 

What  massed,  what  matchless  midnight  hair! 

Her  wide,  sweet,  sultry,  drooping  mouth, 
As  droops  some  flower  when  the  air 

Blows  odors  from  the  ardent  South  — 
That  Sapphic,  sensate,  bended  bow 
Of  deadly  archery;  as  though 

Love's  legions  fortressed  there  and  sent 

Red  arrows  from  his  bow  fell  bent. 

Such  apples!  such  sweet  fruit  concealed 
Of  perfect  womanhood  make  more 
Sweet  pain  than  if  revealed. 


36  SAPPHO    AND    PHAOX. 

XIV. 

How  good  a  thing  it  is  to  house 

Thy  full  heart  treasures  to  that  day 

When  thou  shalt  take  her,  and  carouse 
Thenceforth  with  her  for  aye  and  aye; 

How  good  a  thing  to  give  the  store 

That  thus  the  thousand  years  or  more, 
Poor,  hungered,  holy  worshiper, 
You  kept  for  her,  and  only  her! 
How  well  with  all  thy  wealth  to  wait 

Or  year,  or  thousand  thousand  years, 
Her  coming  at  love's  gate! 

XV. 

The  winds  pressed  warm  from  warm  Japan 
Upon  her  pulsing  womanhood. 

They  fanned  such  fires  in  the  man 

His  face  shone  glory  where  he  stood. 

In  Persia's  rose-fields,  I  have  heard, 

There  sings  a  sad,  sweet,  one-winged  bird; 
Sings  ever  sad  in  lonely  round 
Until  his  one-winged  mate  is  found; 
And  then,  side  laid  to  side,  they  rise 

So  swift,  so  strong,  they  even  dare 
The  doorway  of  the  skies. 

XVI. 

How  rich  was  he!  how  richer  she! 
Such  treasures  up  in  heaven  laid, 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  3  I 

Where  moth  and  rust  may  never  be, 
Nor  thieves  break  in,  or  make  afraid. 

Such  treasures,  where  the  tranquil  soul 

Walks  space,  nor  limit  nor  control 
Can  know,  but  journeys  on  and  on 
Beyond  the  golden  gates  of  dawn; 
Beyond  the  outmost  round  of  Mars; 

Where  God's  foot  rocks  the  cradle  of 
His  new-born  baby  stars. 

XVII. 

As  one  who  comes  upon  a  street, 

Or  sudden  turn  in  pleasant  path, 
As  one  who  suddenly  may  meet 

Some  scene,  some  sound,  some  sense  that 

hath 

A  memory  of  olden  days, 
Of  days  that  long  have  gone  their  ways, 

She  caught   her  breath,  caught  quick  and 

fast 

Her  breath,  as  if  her  whole  life  passed 
Before,  and  pendent  to  and  fro 
Swung  in  the  air  before  her  eyes; 
And  oh,  her  heart  beat  so! 

How  her  heart  beat!     Three  thousand  years 

Of  weary,  waiting  womanhood, 
Of  folded  hands,  of  falling  tears, 

Of  lone  soul-wending  through  dark  wood; 
But  now  at  last  to  meet  once  more 

167078 


38  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

Upon  the  bright,  all-shining  shore 

Of  earth,  in  life's  resplendent  dawn, 
And  he  so  fair  to  look  upon! 
Tall  Phaon  and  the  world -aglow! 

Tall  Phaon,  favored  of  the  gods, 
And  oh,  her  heart  beat  so! 

Her  heart  beat  so,  no  word  she  spake; 

She  pressed  her  palms,  she  leaned  "her  face,- 
Her  heart  beat  so,  its  beating  brake 

The  cord  that  held  her  robe  in  place 
About  her  wondrous,  rounded  throat, 
And  in  the  warm  winds  let  it  float 

And  fall  upon  her  soft,  round  arm, 

So  warm  it  made  the  morning  warm. 

Then  pink  and  pearl  forsook  her  cheek, 
And,  "  Phaon,  I  am  Sappho,  I  — 

Nay,  nay,  she  did  not  speak. 

And  was  this  Sappho,  she  who  sang 

When  mournful  Jeremiah  wept? 
When  harps,  as  weeping  willows  hang, 

Hung  mute  and  all  their  music  kept? 
Aye,  this  was  Sappho,  she  who  knew 
Such  witchery  of  song  as  drew 

The  warlike  world  to  hear  her  sing; 

As  moons  draw  mad  seas  following. 

Aye,  this  was  Sappho,  Lesbos  hill, 
All  had  been  hers,  and  Tempos  vale, 
And  song  sweet  as  to  kill. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  39 

Her  dark  Greek  eyes  turned  to  the  sea; 

Lo,  Phaon's  ferry  as  of  old! 
He  kept  his  boat's  prow  still,  and  he 

Was  stately,  comely,  strong,  and  bold 
As  when  he  ferried  gods,  and  drew 
Immortal  youlh  from  one  who  knew 

His  scorn  of  gold.     The  Lesbian  shore 

Lay  yonder,  and  the  rocky  roar 

Against  the  promontory  told, 
Told  and  retold  her  tale  of  love 
That  never  can  grow  old. 

Three  thousand  years!  yet  love  was  young 

And  fair  as  when  ^Eolis  knew 
Her  glory,  and  her  great  soul  strung 

The  harp  that  still  sweeps  ages  through. 
Ionic  dance  or  Doric  war, 
Or  purpled  dove  or  dulcet  car, 

Or  unyoked-dove  or  close-yoked  dove, 

What  meant  it  all  but  love  and  love? 

And  at  the  naming  of  Love's  name 
She  raised  her  eyes,  and  lo!  her  doves! 
Just  as  of  old  they  came. 


40  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

SONG   THIRD. 

"And  God  saw  the  light  that  it  was  good." 

/  heard  a  tale  long,  long  ago, 

Where  I  had  gone  apart  to  pray 

By  Shasta's  pyramid  of  snow, 
That  touches  me  unto  this  day. 

I  know  the  fashion  is  to  say 

An  Arab  tale,  an  Orient  lay; 

But  when  the  grocer  rings  my  gold 
On  counter,  flung  from  greasy  hold, 
He  cares  not  from  Acadian  vale 

It  comes,  or  savage  mountain  chine; — 
But  this  the  Shastan  tale: 

Once  in  the  olden,  golden  days 

When  men  and  beasts  companied,  when 

All  went  in  peace  about  their  ways 

Nor  God  had  hid  His  face  from  men 

Because  man  slew  his  brother  beast 

To  make  his  most  unholy  feast, 
A  gray  coyote,  monkish  cowled, 
Upraised  his  face  and  wailed  and  howled 
The  ivhile  he  made  his  patient  round; 

For  lo !  the  red  men  all  lay  dead, 
Stark,  frozen  on  the  ground. 


SAPPHO    AND    PHAON.  41 

The  very  dogs  had  fled  the  storm, 

A  mother  with  her  long,  strong  hair 

Sound  tight  about  her  baby's  form, 
Lay  frozen,  all  her  body  bare. 

Her  last  shred  held  her  babe  in  place; 

Her  last  breath  warmed  her  baby's  face. 
Then,  as  the  good  monk  laid  the  snow 
Above  this  mother  loving  so, 
He  heard  God  from  the  mount  above 

Speak  through  the  clouds  and  loving  say: 
"  Yea,  all  is  dead  but  Love." 

"So  take  up  Love  and  cherish  her, 

And  seek  the  white  man  with  all  speed, 

And  keep  Love  warm  within  thy  fur; 
For  oh,  he  needeth  love  indeed. 

Take  all  and  give  him  freely,  all 

Of  love  you  find,  or  great  or  small; 
For  he  is  very  poor  in  this, 
So  poor  he  scarce  knows  what  love  is." 
The  gray  monk  took  Love  in  his  paws 

And  sped,  a  ghostly  streak  of  gray, 
To  where  the  white  man  was. 

But  man  uprose,  enraged  to  see 

A  gaunt  wolf  track  his  new-hewn  town. 

He  called  his  dogs,  and  angrily 

He  brought  his  flashing  rifle  down. 

Then  God  said  :    "On  his  hearthstone  lay 

The  seed  of  Love,  and  come  away; 


42  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

The  seed  of  Lore,  't  is  needed  so, 
And  pray  that  it  may  grow  and  groiv." 
And  so  the  gray  monk  crept  at  night 
And  laid  Lore  down,  as  God  had  said} 
A  faint  and  feeble  light. 


So  faint,  indeed,  the  cold  hearthstone 

It  seemed  would  chill  starved  Lore  to  death; 
And  so  the  monk  gave  all  his  own 

And  crouched  and  fanned  it  with  his  breath 
Until  a  red  cock  crowed  for  day. 
Then  God  said:    "Rise  up,  come  away." 

The  beast  obeyed,  but  yet  looked  back 

All  day  along  his  lonely  track; 

For  he  had  left  his  all  in  all, 
His  own  Lore,  for  that  famished  Love 
Seemed  so  exceeding  small. 

And  God  said:    "Look  not  back  again." 
But  ever,  where  a  campfire  burned, 

And  he  beheld  strong,  burly  men 

At  meat,  he  sat  him  down  and  turned 

His  face  to  wail  and  wail  and  mourn 

The  Love  laid  on  that  cold  hearthstone. 
Then  God  was  angered,  and  God  said: 
"Be  thou  a  beggar  then;  thy  head 
'  Hath  befn  a  fool,  but  thy  swift  feet, 

Because  they  bore  sweet  Love,  shall  be 
Thefle-etest  of  all  fleet." 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  43 

And  ever  still  about  the  camp, 

By  chine  or  plain,  in  heat  or  hail, 

A  homeless,  hungry,  hounded  tramp, 
The  gaunt  coyote  keeps  his  wail. 

And  ever  as  he  wails  he  turns 

His  head,  looks  back  and  yearns  and  yearns 
For  lost  Love,  laid  that  wintry  day 
To  warm  a  hearthstone  far  away. 
Poor  loveless,  homeless  beast,  I  keep 

Your  lost  Love  warm  for  you,  and,  too, 
A  canon  cool  and  deep. 


44  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

PART   THIRD. 

I. 

AND  they  sailed  on;  the  sea-doves  sailed, 

And  Love  sailed  with  them.    And  there  lay 

Such  peace  as  never  had  prevailed 

On  earth  since  dear  Love's  natal  day. 

Great  black-backed  whales  blew  bows  in  clouds, 

Wee  sea-birds  flitted  through  the  shrouds. 
A  wide-winged,  amber  albatross 
Blew  by,  and  bore  his  shadow  cross, 
And  seemed  to  hang  it  on  the  mast, 

The  while  he  followed  far  behind, 
The  great  ship  flew  so  fast. 

She  questioned  her  if  Phaon  knew, 
If  he  could  dream,  or  halfway  guess 

How  she  had  tracked  the  ages  through 
And  trained  her  soul  to  gentleness 

Through  many  lives,  through  every  part 

To  make  her  worthy  his  great  heart. 
Would  Phaon  turn  and  fly  her  still, 
With  that  fierce,  proud,  imperious  will, 
And  scorn  her  still,  and  still  despise? 

She  shuddered,  turned  aside  her  face, 
And  lo,  her  sea-dove's  eyes! 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  45 

II. 

Then  days  of  rest  and  restful  nights; 

And  love  kept  tryst  as  true  love  will, 
The  prow  their  trysting-place.     Delights 

Of  silence,  simply  sitting  still, — 
Of  asking  nothing,  saying  naught; 
For  all  that  love  had  ever  sought 

Sailed  with  them ;  words  or  deeds  had  been 

Impertinence,  a  selfish  sin. 

And  oh,  to  know  how  sweet  a  thing 
Is  silence  on  those  restful  seas 

When  Love's  dove  folds  her  wing! 

The  great  sea  slept.     In  vast  repose 
His  pillowed  head  half-hidden  lay, 

Half-drowned  in  dread  Alaskan  snows 
That  stretch  to  where  no  man  may  say. 

His  huge  arms  tossed  to  left,  to  right, 

Where  black  woods,  banked  like  bits  of  night, 
As  sleeping  giants  toss  their  arms 
At  night  about  their  fearful  forms 
A  slim  canoe,  a  night-bird's  call, 

Some  gray  sea-doves,  just  these  and  Love, 
And  Love  indeed  was  all! 


III. 

Far,  far  away  such  cradled  Isles 

As  Jason  dreamed  and  Argos  sought 


46  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

Surge  up  from  endless  watery  miles! 

And  thou,  the  pale  high  priest  of  thought, 
The  everlasting  throned  king 
Of  fair  Samoa!     Shall  I  bring 

Sweet  sandal- wood?     Or  shall  I  lay 
Rich  wreaths  of  California's  bay 
From  sobbing  maidens?     Stevenson, 
Sleep  well.     Thy  work  is  done;  well  done! 
So  bravely,  bravely  done! 

And  Molokia's  lord  of  love 

And  tenderness,  and  piteous  tears 

For  stricken  man!     Go  forth,  O  dove! 
With  olive  branch,  and  still  the  fears 

Of  those  he  meekly  died  to  save. 

They  shall  not  perish.     From  that  grave 
Shall  grow  such  healing!  such  as  He 
Gave  stricken  men  by  holy  Galilee. 
Great  ocean  cradle,  cradle,  keep 

These  two,  the  chosen  of  thy  heart, 
Rocked  in  sweet,  baby  sleep. 

IV. 

Fair  land  of  flowers,  land  of  flame, 
Of  sun-born  seas,  of  sea-born  clime, 

Of  clouds  low  shepherded  and  tame 
As  white  pet  sheep  at  shearing  time, 

Of  great,  white,  generous,  high-born  rain, 

Of  rainbows  builded  not  in  vain  — 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  47 

Of  rainbows  builded  for  the  feet 
Of  love  to  pass  dry-shod  and  fleet 
From  isle  to  isle,  when  smell  of  musk 
'Mid  twilight  is,  and  one  lone  star 
Sits  in  the  brow  of  dusk. 


Oh,  dying,  sad-voiced,  sea-born  maid, 
And  plundered,  dying,  still  sing  on. 

Thy  breast  against  the  thorn  is  laid  — 
Sing  on,  sing  on,  sweet  dying  swan. 

How  pitiful!     And  so  despoiled 

By  those  you  fed,  for  whom  you  toiled! 
Aloha!     Hail  you,  and  farewell, 
Far  echo  of  some  lost  sea-shell! 
Some  song  that  lost  its  way  at  sea, 

Some  sea-lost  notes  of  nature,  lost, 
And  crying,  came  to  me 

Dusk  maid,  adieu!     One  sea-shell  less! 

Sad  sea-shell  silenced  and  forgot. 
O  Rachel  in  the  wilderness, 

Wail  on!     Your  children  they  are  not. 
And  they  who  took  them,  they  who  laid 
Hard  hand,  shall  they  not  feel  afraid? 

Shall  they  who  in  the  name  of  God 

Robbed  and  enslaved  escape  His  rod? 

Give  me  some  after-world  afar 
From  these  hard  men,  for  well  I  know 
Hell  must  be  where  they  are. 


48  SAPPHO    AXD    PHAOX. 

V. 

Lo!  suddenly  the  lone  ship  burst 
Upon  an  uncompleted  world, 

A  world  so  dazzling  white,  man  durst 

Not  face  the  flashing  search-light  hurled 

From  heaven's  snow-built  battlements 

And  high-heaved  camp  cf  cloud- wreathed  tents. 
And  boom !  boom !  boom !  from  sea  or  shore 
Came  one  long,  deep,  continuous  roar, 
As  if  God  wrought;  as  if  the  days, 

The  first  six  pregnant  mother  morns, 
Had  not  quite  gone  their  way. 

What  word  is  fitting  but  the  Word 

Here  in  this  vast  world-fashioning? 
What  tongue  can  name  the  nameless  Lord? 

What  hand  lay  hand  on  anything? 
Come,  let  us  coin  new  words  of  might 
And  massiveness  to  name  this  light, 

This  largeness,  largeness  everywhere! 

White  rivers  hanging  in  the  air, 

Ice-tied  through  all  eternity! 
Nay,  peace!     It  were  profane  to  say: 
We  dare  but  hear  and  see. 

Be  silent!     Hear  the  strokes  resound! 

'T  is  God's  hand  rounding  down  the  earth! 
Take  off  thy  shoes,  't  is  holy  ground, — 

Behold!  a  continent  has  birth! 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  49 

The  skies  bow  down.  Madonna's  blue 

Enfolds  the  sea  in  sapphire.     You 
May  lift,  a  little  spell,  your  eyes 
And  feast  them  on  the  ice- propped  skies, 
And  feast  but  for  a  little  space: 

Then  let  thy  face  fall  grateful  down 
And  let  thy  soul  say  grace. 


VI. 

At  anchor  so,  and  all  night  through, 
The  two  before  God's  temple  kept. 

He  spake:    "  I  know  yon  peak,  I  knew 
A  deep  ice-cavern  there.     I  slept 

With  hairy  men,  or  monsters  slew, 

Or  led  down  misty  seas  my  crew 
Of  cruel  savages  and  slaves. 
And  slew  who  dared  the  distant  waves, 
And  once  a  strange,  strong  ship  —  and  she, 

I  bore  her  to  yon  cave  of  ice, — 

And  Love  companioned  me. 

VII. 

"  Two  scenes  of  all  scenes  from  the  first 
Have  come  to  me  on  this  great  sea: 

The  one  when  light  from  heaven  burst, 
The  one  when  sweet  Love  came  to  me. 

And  of  the  two,  or  best  or  worst, 

I  ever  hold  this  second  first. 


50  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

Bear  with  me.     Yonder  citadel 
Of  ice  tells  all  my  tongue  can  tell: 
My  thirst  for  love,  my  pain,  my  pride, 
My  soul's  warm  youth  the  while  she  lived, 
Its  old  age  when  she  died. 

"  I  know  not  if  she  loved  or  no. 
I  only  asked  to  ser\e  and  love; 

To  love  and  serve,  and  ever  so 

My  love  grew  as  grows  light  above, — 

Grew  from  gray  dawn  to  gold  midday, 

And  swept  the  wild  world  in  its  sway. 

The  stars  came  down,  so  close  they  came, 
I  called  them,  named  them  with  her  name, 
The  kind  moon  came, —  came  once  so  near, 

That  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm 
I  leaned  my  lifted  spear. 

"  And  yet,  somehow,  for  all  the  stars, 

And  all  the  silver  of  the  moon, 
She  looked  from  out  her  icy  bars 

As  longing  for  some  sultry  noon. 
As  longing  for  some  warmer  kind, 
Some  far  south  sunland  left  behind. 
Then  I  went  down  to  sea.     I  sailed 
Thro'  seas  where  monstrous  things  prevailed, 

Such  slimy,  shapeless,  hungered  things! 

Red  griffins,  wide-winged,  bat-like  wings, 

Red  griffins,  black  or  fire-fed, 
That  ate  my  fever-stricken  men 

Ere  yet  they  were  quite  dead. 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  51 

'  I  could  not  find  her  love  for  her, 
Or  land,  or  fit  thing  for  her  touch, 

And  I  came  back,  sad  worshiper, 

And  watched  and  longed  and  loved  so 
much! 

I  watched  huge  monsters  climb  and  pass 

Reflected  in  great  walls,  like  glass; 
Dark,  draggled,  hairy,  fearful  forms 
Upblown  by  ever-battling  storms, 
And  streaming  still  with  slime  and  spray; 

So  huge  from  out  their  sultry  seas, 
Like  storm-torn  islands  they. 

"  Then  even  these  she  ceased  to  note, 
She  ceased  at  last  to  look  on  me, 

But,  baring  to  the  sun  her  throat, 
She  looked  and  looked  incessantly 

Away  against  the  south,  away 

Against  the  sun  the  livelong  day. 
At  last  I  saw  her  watch  a  swan 
Surge  tow'rd  the  north,  surge  on  and  on. 
I  saw  her  smile,  her  first,  faint  smile; 

Then  burst  a  new-born  thought,  and  I, 
I  nursed  that  all  the  while. 

VIII. 

"  I  somehow  dreamed,  or  guessed,  or  knew, 
That  somewhere  in  the  dear  earth's  heart 

Was  warmth  and  tenderness  and  true 
Delight,  and  all  love's  nobler  part. 


52  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

I  tried  to  think,  aye,  thought  and  thought; 

In  all  the  strange  fruits  that  I  brought 
For  her  delight  I  could  but  find 
The  sweetness  deep  within  the  rind. 
All  beasts,  all  birds,  some  better  part 

Of  central  being  deepest  housed; 

And  earth  must  have  a  heart. 

"I  watched  the  wide-winged  birds  that  blew 

Continually  against  the  bleak 
And  ice-built  north,  and  surely  knew 

The  long,  lorn  croak,  the  reaching  beak, 
Led  not  to  ruin  evermore; 
For  they  came  back,  came  swooping  o'er 

Each  spring,  with  clouds  of  younger  ones, 

So  dense,  they  dimmed  the  summer  suns. 

And  so  I  knew  somehow,  somewhere, 
Beyond  earth's  ice-bared,  star-tipt  peaks 
They  found  a  softer  air. 

"  And  too,  I  heard  strange  stories,  held 
In  mem'ries  of  my  hairy  men, 

Vague,  dim  traditions,  dim  with  eld, 
Of  other  lands  and  ages  when 

Nor  ices  were,  nor  anything; 

But  ever  one  warm,  restful  spring 
Of  radiant  sunlight:   stories  told 
By  dauntless  men  of  giant  mold, 
Who  kept  their  cavern's  icy  mouth 

Ice-locked,  and  hungered  where  they  sat, 
With  sad  eyes  tow'rd  the  south: 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  53 

"  Tales  of  a  time  ere  hate  began, 

Of  herds  of  reindeer,  wild  beasts  tamed, 

When  man  walked  forth  in  love  with  man, 
Walked  naked,  and  was  not  ashamed; 

Of  how  a  brother  beast  he  slew, 

Then  night,  and  all  sad  sorrows  knew; 
How  tame  beasts  were  no  longer  tame; 
How  God  drew  His  great  sword  of  flame 
And  drove  man  naked  to  the  snow, 

Till,  pitying,  He  made  of  skins 

A  coat,  and  clothed  him  so. 

"  And,  true  or  not  true,  still  the  same, 

I  saw  continually  at  night 
That  far,  bright,  flashing  sword  of  flame, 

Misnamed  the  Borealis  light; 
I  saw  my  men,  in  coats  of  skin 
As  God  had  clothed  them,  felt  the  sin 

And  suffering  of  that  first  death 

Each  day  in  every  icy  breath. 

Then  why  should  I  still  disbelieve 
These  tales  of  fairer  lands  than  mine, 
And  let  my  lady  grieve? 

IX. 

"Yea,  I  would  find  that  land  for  her! 

Then  dogs,  and  sleds,  and  swift  reindeer; 
Huge,  hairy  men  all  mailed  in  fur, 

Who  knew  not  yet  the  name  of  fear, 


54  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

Nor  knew  fatigue,  nor  aught  that  ever 

To  this  day  has  balked  endeavor. 

And  we  swept  forth,  while  wide,  swift  wings 
Still  sought  the  Pole  in  endless  strings. 
I  left  her  sitting  looking  south, 

Still  leaning,  looking  to  the  sun, — 
My  kisses  on  her  mouth  I 

X. 

"  Far  toward  the  north,  so  tall,  so  far, 
One  tallest  ice  shaft  starward  stood — 

Stood  as  it  were  itself  a  star, 

Scarce  fallen  from  its  sisterhood. 

Tip-top  the  glowing  apex  there 

Upreared  a  huge  white  polar  bear. 

He  pushed  his  swart  nose  up  and  out, 
And  walked  the  North  Star  round  about, 
Below  the  Great  Bear  of  the  main, 

The  upper  main,  as  if  his  mate, 

Chained  with  a  star-linked  chain. 

XI. 

"And  we  pushed  on,  up,  on,  and  on, 
Until,  as  in  the  world  of  dreams, 

We  found  the  very  doors  of  dawn 

With  warm  sun  bursting  through  the  seams. 

We  brake  them  through,  then  down,  far  down, 

Until,  as  in  some  park-set  town, 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  55 

We  found  lost  Eden.     Very  rare 
The  fruit,  and  all  the  perfumed  air 
So  sweet,  we  sat  us  down  to  feed 
And  rest,  without  a  thought  or  care, 
Or  ever  other  need. 

"  For  all  earth's  pretty  birds  were  here; 
And  women  fair,  and  very  fair; 

Sweet  song  was  in  the  atmosphere, 
Nor  effort  was,  nor  noise,  nor  care. 

As  cocoons  from  their  silken  house 

Wing  forth  and  in  the  sun  carouse, 
My  men  let  fall  their  housings  and 
Passed  on  and  on,  far  down  the  land 
Of  purple  grapes  and  poppy  bloom. 

Such  warm,  sweet  land,  such  peaceful  land! 
Just  peace  and  sweet  perfume! 

"And  I  pushed  down  ere  I  returned 

To  climb  the  deep  world's  walls  of  snow, 

And  saw  where  earth's  heart  beat  and  burned, 
An  hundred  sultry  leagues  below; 

Saw  deep  seas  set  with  deep-sea  isles 

Of  waving  verdure;  miles  on  miles 

Of  rising  sea-birds  with  their  broods, 
In  all  their  noisy,  happy  moods! 
Aye,  then  I  knew  earth  has  a  heart, 

That  Nature  wastes  nor  space  or  place, 
But  husbands  every  part. 


56  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

XII. 

"  My  reindeer  fretted:  I  turned  back 
For  her,  the  heart  of  me,  my  soul! 

Ah,  then,  how  swift,  how  white  my  track! 
All  Paradise  beneath  the  Pole 

Were  but  a  mockery  till  she 

Should  share  its  dreamful  sweets  with  me.  , 
I  know  not  well  what  next  befell, 
Save  that  white  heaven  grew  black  hell. 
She  sat  with  sad  face  to  the  south, 

Still  sat,  sat  still;  but  she  was  dead  — 
My  kisses  on  her  mouth. 

XIII. 

"  What  else  to  do  but  droop  and  die? 

But  dying,  how  my  poor  soul  yearned 
To  fly  as  swift  south  birds  may  fly — • 

To  pass  that  way  her  eyes  had  turned, 
The  dear  days  she  had  sat  with  me, 
And  search  and  search  eternity! 

And,  do  you  know,  I  surely  know 

That  God  has  given  us  to  go 

The  way  we  will  in  life  or  death  — 
To  go,  to  grow,  or  good  or  ill, 

As  one  may  draw  a  breath?" 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  57 


SONG   FOURTH. 


"  And  God  saw  everything  that  He  had  made, 
and,  behold,  it  was  very  good." 


Says  Plato,  "  Once  in  Greece  the  gods 

Plucked  grapes,  pressed  wine,  and  reveled  deep 

And  drowsed  below  their  poppy-pods, 
And  lay  full  length  the  hills  asleep. 

Then,  waking,  one  said,  '  Overmuch 

We  toil :  come,  let  us  rise  and  touch 
Red  clay,  and  shape  it  into  man, 
That  he  may  build  as  we  shall  plan  ! ' 
And  so  they  shaped  man,  all  complete, 

Self-procreative,  satisfied; 

Two  heads,  four  hands,  four  feet. 

"And  then  the  gods  slept,  heedless,  long; 

But  waking  suddenly  one  day, 
They  heard  their  valley  ring  with  song 

And  saw  man  reveling  as  they. 
Enraged,  they  drew  their  swords  and  said, 
'  Bow  down  !  bend  down ! '  —  but  man  replied 

Defiant,  fearless,  everywhere 

His  four  fists  shaking  in  the  air. 

The  gods  descending  cleft  in  twain 
Each  man;  then  wiped  their  swords  on  grapes; 
And  1st  confusion  reign. 


58  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

"And  such  confusion!  each  half  ran, 
Ran  here,  ran  there;  or  weep  or  laugh 

Or  what  he  would,  each  helpless  man 
Ran  hunting  for  his  other  half. 

And  from  that  day,  thenceforth  the  grapes 

Bore  blood  and  flame,  and  restless  shapes 
Of  heivn-down,  helpless  halves  of  men, 
Ran  searching  ever;  crazed,  as  when 
First  hewn  in  twain,  they  grasped,  let  go, 

Then  grasped  again;  but  rarely  found 
That  lost  half  once  loved  so." 

Now,  right  or  wrong,  or  false  or  true, 
'Tis  Plato's  tale  of  bitter  sweet; 

But  I  know  well  and  well  know  you 
The  quest  keeps  on  at  fever  heat. 

Let  Love,  then,  wisely  sit  and  wait  ! 

The  world  is  round ;  sit  by  the  gate, 
Like  blind  Belisarius :  being  blind, 
Love  should  not  search;  Love  shall  not  find 
By  searching.     Brass  is  so  like  gold, 

How  shall  this  blind  Love  know  new  brass 
From  piire  soft  gold  of  old  f  /~ 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  59 

PART   FOURTH. 

I. 

NAY,  turn  not  to  the  past  for  light ; 

Nay,  teach  not  Pagan  tale  for  truth. 
Behind  lie  heathen  gods  and  night, 

Before  lift  high,  white  lights  and  youth. 
Sweet  Orpheus  looked  back,  and  lo, 
Hell  met  his  eyes  and  endless  woe! 

Lot's  wife  looked  back,  and  for  this  fell 

To  something  even  worse  than  hell. 

Let  us  have  faith,  sail,  seek  and  find 
The  new  world  and  the  new  world's  ways: 
Blind  Homer  led  the  blind! 

II. 

Come,  let  us  kindle  Faith  in  light! 

Yon  eagle  climbing  to  the  sun 
Keeps  not  the  straightest  course  in  sight, 

But  room  and  reach  of  wing  and  run 
Of  rounding  circle  all  are  his, 
Till  he  at  last  bathes  in  the  light 

Of  worlds  that  look  far  down  on  this 

Arena's  battle  for  the  right. 

The  stoutest  sail  that  braves  the  breeze, 
The  bravest  battle  ship  that  rides, 
Rides  rounding  up  the  seas. 


60  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

Come,  let  us  kindle  faith  in  man! 

What  though  yon  eagle  where  he  swings 
May  moult  a  feather  in  God's  plan 

Of  broader,  stronger,  better  wings! 
Why,  let  the  moulted  feathers  lie 
As  thick  as  leaves  upon  the  lawn, 

These  be  but  proof  we  cleave  the  sky 

And  still  round  on  and  on  and  on. 

Fear  not  for  moulting  feathers;  nay, 
But  rather  fear  when  all  is  fair 
And  care  is  far  away. 

Come,  let  us  kindle  faith  in  God! 

He  made,  He  keeps,  He  still  can  keep. 
The  storm  obeys  His  burning  rod; 

The  storm  brought  Christ  to  walk  the  deep. 
Trust  God  to  round  His  own  at  will; 
Trust  God  to  keep  His  own  for  aye  — 

Or  strife  or  strike,  or  well  or  ill; 

An  eagle  climbing  up  the  sky — 

A  meteor  down  from  heaven  hurled — 
Trust  God  to  round,  reform,  or  rock 
His  new-born,  noisy  world. 


III. 

How  full  the  great,  full-hearted  seas 
That  lave  high,  white  Alaska's  feet! 

How  densely  green  the  dense  green  trees! 
How  sweet  the  smell  of  wood!  how  sweet! 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  61 

What  sense  of  high,  white  newness  where 
This  new  world  breathes  the  new,  blue  air 

That  never  breath  of  man  or  breath 

Of  mortal  thing  considereth! 

And  ah,  the  Borealis  light! 
The  angel  with  his  flaming  sword 
And  never  sense  of  night! 


IV. 

Are  these  the  walls  of  Paradise  — 

Yon  peaks  the  gates  that  few  may  pass? 

Lo,  everlasting  silence  lies 

Along  their  gleaming  ways  of  glass! 

Just  silence  and  that  sword  of  flame; 

Just  silence  and  Jehovah's  name, 

Where  all  is  new,  unnamed,  and  white! 
Come,  let  us'read  where  angels  write — 
"  In  the  beginning  God  " —  aye,  these 

The  waters  where  God's  Spirit  moved; 
These,  these,  the  very  seas! 

Just  one  deep,  wave-washed  chariot  wheel: 
Such  sunset  on  that  fair  first  day! 

An  unsheathed  sword  of  flame  and  steel; 
Then  battle  flashes;  then  dismay, 

And  mad  confusion  of  all  hues 

That  earth  and  heaven  could  infuse, 
Till  all  hues  softly  fused  and  blent 
In  orange  worlds  of  wonderment: 


62  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

Then  dying  day,  in  kingly  ire, 
Struck  back  with  one  last  blow,  and  smote 
The  world  with  molten  fire. 

So  fell  God's  first  day,  proudly,  dead 
In  battle  harness  where  he  fought. 

But  falling,  still  high  o'er  his  head 

There  flashed  the  sword  in  crimson  wrought, 

Till  came  his  kingly  foeman,  Dusk, 

In  garments  moist  with  smell  of  musk. 

The  bent  moon  moved  down  heaven's  steeps 
Low-bowed,  as  when  a  woman  weeps; 
Bowed  low,  half- veiled  in  widowhood: 

Then  stars  tiptoed  the  peaks  in  gold 

And  burned  brown  sandal-wood. 

Fit  death  of  Day;  fit  burial  rite 

When  "  The  beginning  "  was!     I  lay 

This  leaflet  with  the  musky  night 

Upon  his  tomb.     Come,  come  away; 

For  Phaon  talks  and  Sappho  turns 

To  where  the  light  of  heaven  burns 
To  love  light,  and  she  leans  to  hear 
With  something  more  than  mortal  ear. 
The  while  the  ship  has  pushed  her  prow 

So  close  against  the  fir-set  shore 

You  breathe  the  spicy  bough. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  63 

V. 

Some  red  men  by  the  low,  white  beach ; 
Camp  fires,  belts  of  dense,  black  fir: 

She  leaning  as  if  she  would  reach 
To  him  the  very  soul  of  her. 

The  red  flames  cast  a  silhouette 

Against  the  snow,  above  the  jet 

Black,  narrow  night  of  fragrant  fir, 
And,  as  of  old,  he  looked  on  her, 
Lim'd  out  against  a  glacier  peak, 

With  strong  arms  crossed  on  his  proud  breast; 
The  while  she  felt  him  speak: 

"  How  glad  was  I  to  walk  with  Death 

Far  down  his  dim,  still,  trackless  lands, 

Where  wind  nor  wave  nor  any  breath 
Broke  ripples  o'er  the  somber  sands. 

I  walked  with  Death  as  eagerly 

As  ever  I  had  sailed  this  sea. 

Then  on  and  on  I  searched,  I  sought, 
Yet  all  my  seeking  came  to  naught. 
I  sailed  by  pleasant,  peopled  isles 

Of  song  and  summer  time;  I  sailed 
Ten  thousand  weary  miles! 

"  I  heard  a  song !  She  had  been  sad, 

So  sad  and  ever  drooping  she; 
How  could  she,  then,  in  song  be  glad 

The  while  I  searched?     It  could  not  be. 


64  SAPPHO    AND    PHAON. 

And  yet  that  voice!  so  like  it  seemed 
I  questioned  if  I  heard  or  dreamed. 

She  smiled  on  me.     This  made  me  scorn 

My  very  self;  for  I  was  born 

To  loyalty.     I  would  be  true 
Unto  my  love,  my  soul,  my  self, 
Whatever  death  might  do. 

"  I  fled  her  face,  her  proud,  fair  face, 
Her  songs  that  won  a  world  to  her. 

Had  she  sat  songless  in  her  place, 
Sat  with  no  single  worshiper, 

Sat  with  bowed  head,  sad- voiced,  alone, 

I  might  have  known!     I  might  have  known! 
But  how  could  I,  the  savage,  know 
This  sun,  contrasting  with  that  snow, 
Would  waken  her  great  soul  to  song 

That  still  thrills  all  the  ages  through? 
I  blindly  did  such  wrong! 

"  Again  I  fled.     I  ferried  gods; 

Yet,  pining  still,  I  came  to  pine 
Where  drowsy  Lesbos  Bacchus  nods 

And  drowned  my  soul  in  Cyprian  wine. 
Drowned!  drowned  my  poor,  sad  soul  so  deep, 
I  sank  to  where  damned  serpents  creep! 

Then  slowly  upward;  round  by  round 

I  toiled,  regained  this  vantage-ground. 

And  now,  at  last,  I  claim  mine  own, 


SAPPHO   AND    PHAON.  65 

As  some  long-banished  king  comes  back 
To  battle  for  his  throne." 


VI. 

I  do  not  say  that  thus  he  spake 

By  word  of  mouth,  by  human  speech; 

The  sun  in  one  swift  flash  will  take 
A  photograph  of  space  and  reach 

The  realm  of  stars.     A  soul  like  his 

Is  like  unto  the  sun  in  this: 

Her  soul  the  plate  placed  to  receive 

The  swift  impressions,  to  believe, 

To  doubt  no  more  than  you  might  doubt 

The  wondrous  midnight  world  of  stars 
That  dawn  has  blotted  out. 

VII. 

And  Phaon  loved  her;  he  who  knew 

The  North  Pole  and  the  South,  and  named 

The  stars  for  her,  strode  forth  and  slew 
Black,  hairy  monsters  no  man  tamed; 

And  all  before  fair  Greece  was  born, 

Or  Lesbos  yet  knew  night  or  morn. 
No  marvel  that  she  knew  him  when 
He  came,  the  chiefest  of  all  men. 
No  marvel  that  she  loved  and  died, 

And  left  such  marbled  bits  of  song — 
Proud,  broken  Phidian  pride. 


66  SAPPHO   AND    PHAON. 

VIII. 

Oh,  but  for  that  one  further  sense 

For  man  that  man  shall  yet  possess! 

That  sense  that  puts  aside  pretense 

And  sees  the  truth,  that  scorns  to  guess 

Or  grope,  or  play  at  blindinan's  buff, 

But  knows  rough  diamonds  in  the  rough! 
Oh,  well  for  man  when  man  shall  see, 
As  see  he  must  man's  destiny! 
Oh,  well  when  man  shall  know  his  mate, 

One-winged  and  desolate,  lives  on 
And  bravely  dares  to  wait! 

IX. 

Full  morning  found  them,  and  the  land 
Received  them,  and  the  chapel  gray; 

Some  Indian  huts  on  either  hand, 

A  smell  of  pine,  a  flash  of  spray, — 

White,  frozen  rivers  of  the  sky 

Hung  down  the  glacial  steeps  hard  by; 
Far  ice-peaks  flashed  with  sudden  light, 
As  if  they  would  illume  the  rite, 
As  if  they  knew  his  story  well, 

As  if  they  knew  that  form,  that  face, 
And  all  that  time  could  tell. 

X. 

They  passed  dusk  chieftains  two  by  two, 
With  totem  gods  and  stroud  and  shell. 


SAPPHO  AND   PHAON.  67 

They  slowly  passed,  and  passing  through, 
He  bought  of  all  —  he  knew  them  well. 

And  one,  a  bent  old  man  and  blind, 

He  put  his  hands  about,  and  kind 

And  strange  words  whispered  in  his  ear, 
So  kind,  his  dull  soul  could  but  hear. 
And  hear  he  surely  did,  for  he, 

With  full  hands,  lifted  up  his  face 
And  smiled  right  pleasantly. 

How  near,  how  far,  how  fierce,  how  tame! 
The  polar  bear,  the  olive  branch; 

The  dying  exile,  Christ's  sweet  name — 
Vast  silence!     Then  the  avalanche! 

How  much  this  little  church  to  them — 

Alaska  and  Jerusalem! 

The  pair  passed  in,  the  silent  pair 

Fell  down  before  the  altar  there, 

The  Greek  before  the  gray  Greek  cross, 

And  Phaon  at  her  side  at  last, 
For  all  her  weary  loss. 

The  bearded  priest  came,  and  he  laid 

His  two  hands  forth  and  slowly  spake 
Strange,  solemn  words,  and  slowly  prayed 

And  blessed  them  there,  for  Jesus'  sake. 
Then  slowly  they  arose  and  passed, 
Still  silent,  voiceless  to  the  last. 

They  passed :  her  eyes  were  to  his  eyes, 

But  his  were  lifted  to  the  skies, 


68  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

As  looking,  looking,  that  lorn  night, 
Before  the  birth  of  God's  first-born 
As  praying  still  for  Light. 

XI. 

So  Phaon  knew  and  Sappho  knew 
Nor  night  nor  sadness  any  more 

How  new  the  old  world,  ever  new, 

When  white  Love  walks  the  shining  shore! 

They  found  his  long-lost  Eden,  found 

Her  old,  sweet  songs;  such  dulcet  sound 
Of  harmonies  as  soothe  the  ear 
When  Love  and  only  Love  can  hear. 
They  found  lost  Eden;  lilies  lay 

Along  their  path,  whichever  land 

They  journeyed  from  that  day. 

XII. 

They  never  died.     Great  loves  live  on. 

You  need  not  die  and  dare  the  skies 
In  forms  that  poor  creeds  hinge  upon 

To  pass  the  gates  of  Paradise. 
I  know  not  if  that  sword  of  flame 
Still  lights  the  North,  and  leads  the  same 

As  when  he  passed  the  gates  of  old. 

I  know  not  if  they  braved  the  bold, 

Defiant  walls  that  fronted  them 
Where  awful  Saint  Elias  broods, 

Wrapped  in  God's  garment-hem. 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  69 

I  only  know  they  found  the  lost, 
The  long-lost  Eden,  found  all  fair 

Where  naught  had  been  but  hail  and  frost; 
As  Love  finds  Eden  anywhere. 

And  wouldst  thou,  too,  live  on  and  on? 

Then  walk  with  Nature  till  the  dawn. 

Aye,  make  thy  soul  worth  saving  —  save 
Thy  soul  from  darkness  and  the  grave. 
Love  God  not  overmuch,  but  love 

God's  world  which  He  called  very  good; 
Then  lo,  Love's  white  sea-dove! 

XIII. 

I  know  not  where  lies  Eden-land ; 

I  only  know  't  is  like  unto 
God's  kingdom,  ever  right  at  hand  — 

Ever  right  here  in  reach  of  you. 
Put  forth  thy  hand,  or  great  or  small, 
In  storm  or  sun,  by  sea  or  wood, 

And  say,  as  God  hath  said  of  all, 

Behold,  it  all  is  very  good. 

Farewell,  fair  Sappho,  Phaon,  Love! 
I  leave  you  in,  your  paradise, 

And  seek  mine  own  sea-dove. 


70  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

XIV. 

Yon  great  chained  sea-ship  chafes  to  be 

Once  more  unleashed  without  the  Gate 
On  proud  Columbia's  boundless  sea, 

And  I  chafe  with  her,  for  I  hate 
The  rust  of  rest,  the  dull  repose, 
The  fawning  breath  of  baffled  foes, 

Whose  blame  through  all  my  bitter  days 

I  have  endured;  spare  me  their  praise! 

I  go,  as  I  have  lived,  alone; 
Alone,  as  all  must  go  at  last 

Who  sail  the  vast. Unknown. 

XV. 

Could  I  but  teach  man  to  believe  — 
Could  I  but  make  small  men  to  grow, 

To  break  frail  spider-webs  that  weave 
About  their  thews  and  bind  them  low; 

Could  I  but  sing  one  song  and  slay 

Grim  Doubt;  I  then  could  go  my  way 
In  tranquil  silence,  glad,  serene, 
And  satisfied,  from  off  the  scene. 
But  ah,  this  disbelief,  this  doubt, 

This  doubt  of  God,  this  doubt  of  good, — 
The  damned  spot  will  not  out! 

XVI. 

Grew  once  a  rose  within  my  room 
Of  perfect  hue,  of  perfect  health; 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  71 

Of  such  perfection  and  perfume, 

It  filled  my  poor  house  with  its  wealth. 

Then  came  the  pessimist  who  knew 

Not  good  or  grace,  but  overthrew 
My  rose,  and  in  the  broken  pot 
Nosed  fast  for  slugs  within  the  rot. 
He  found,  found  with  exulting  pride, 

Deep  in  the  loam,  a  worm,  a  slug: 
The  while  my  rose-tree  died. 


XVII. 

Yea,  ye  did  hurt  me.     Joy  in  this. 

It  is  your  right  at  last  to  know, 
Since  pain  is  all  your  world  of  bliss, 

That  ye  did,  hounding,  hurt  me  so; 
But  mute  as  bayed  stag  on  his  steeps, 
Who  keeps  his  haunts,  and,  bleeding,  keeps 

His  breast  turned  watching  where  they  come, 

Kept  I  defiant,  and  as  dumb. 

But  comfort  ye;  your  work  was  done 
With  devils'  cunning,  like  the  mole 
That  lets  the  life-sap  run. 

And  my  revenge?     My  vengeance  is 
That  I  have  made  one  rugged  spot 

The  fairer;  that  I  fashioned  this 

While  envy,  hate,  and  falsehood  shot 


72  SAPPHO   AND   PHAON. 

Rank  poison;  that  I  leave  to  those 
Who  shot,  for  arrows,  each  a  rose; 

Aye.  labyrinths  of  rose  and  wold, 

Acacias  garmented  in  gold, 

Bright  fountains,  where  birds  come  to  drink; 
Such  clouds  of  cunning,  pretty  birds, 
And  tame  as  you  can  think. 

XVIII. 

Come  here  when  I  am  far  away, 
Fond  lovers  of  this  lovely  land, 

And  sit  quite  still  and  do  not  say, 
Turn  right  or  left,  or  lift  a  hand, 

But  sit  beneath  my  kindly  trees 

And  gaze  far  out  yon  sea  of  seas: — 

These  trees,  these  very  stones,  could  tell 
How  long  I  loved  them,  and  how  well  — 
And  maybe  I  shall  come  and  sit 

Beside  you;  sit  so  silently 

You  will  not  reck  of  it. 

XIX. 

The  old  desire  of  far,  new  lands, 

The  thirst  to  learn,  to  still  front  storms, 

To  bend  my  knees,  to  lift  my  hands 
To  God  in  all  His  thousand  forms  — 

These  lure  and  lead  as  pleasantly 

As  old  songs  sung  anew  at  sea. 

But,  ancient  lands  or  ocean  deeps, 
I  will  my  ashes  to  my  steeps — 


SAPPHO   AND   PHAON.  73 

I  will  my  steeps,  green  cross,  red  rose, 
To  those  who  love  the  beautiful — 
Come,  learn  to  be  of  those. 

XX. 

The  sun  has  draped  his  couch  in  red; 

Night  takes  the  warm  world  in  his  arms 
And  turns  to  their  espousal  bed 

To  breathe  the  perfume  of  her  charms: 
The  great  sea  calls,  and  I  descend 
As  to  the  call  of  some  sweet  friend. 

I  go,  not  hating  any  man, 

But  loving  Earth  as  only  can 

A  lover  suckled  at  her  breast 
Of  beauty  from  his  babyhood, 
And  roam  to  truly  rest. 

XXI. 

God  is  not  far;  man  is  not  far 

From  Heaven's  porch,  where  paeans  roll. 
Man  yet  shall  speak  from  star  to  star 

In  silent  language  of  the  soul; 
Yon  star-strewn  skies  be  but  a  town, 
With  angels  passing  up  and  down. 

"  I  leave  my  peace  with  you."     Lo!  these, 

His  seven  wounds,  the  Pleiades 

Pierce  Heaven's  porch.     But  resting  there 
The  new  moon  rocks  the  Child  Christ  in 
Her  silver  rocking-chair. 

The  HigMs,  January,  1896. 


SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IN    SAN 
DIEGO. 


My  city  sits  amid  her  palms; 

The  perfume  of  her  twilight  breath 
Is  something  as  the  sacred  balms 

That  bound  sweet  Jesus  after  death; 
Such  soft,  warm  twilight  sense  as  lies 
Against  the  gates  of  Paradise. 

Such  prayerful  palms,  with  palms  upreached, 
As  if  this  faith  were  incense  smoke, 

My  city  sits,  a  sermon  preached, 
A  lily  with  a  soul  of  oak. 

But  oh,  the  tivilight !  and  the  grace 

Of  twilight  on  her  lifted  face ! 

I  love  you,  twilight, —  love  with  love 

So  loyal,  loving,  fond  that  I, 
When  folding  these  poor  hands  to  die, 

Shall  pray  God  lead  me  not  above, 
74 


SUNSET   AND   DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO.  75 

But  leave  me,  twilight,  sad  and  true, 
To  walk  this  lonesome  world  with  you. 

Yea,  God  knoics  I  have  walked  with  night; 

I  have  not  seen,  I  have  not  known 
Such  light  as  beats  upon  His  throne. 

I  know  I  could  not  bear  such  light; 
Therefore,  I  beg,  sad  sister  true, 
To  share  your  shadow-world  with  you. 

I  love  you,  love  you,  maid  of  night, 

Your  perfumed  breath,  your  dreamful  eyes, 

Your  holy  silences,  your  sighs 

Of  mateless  longing;  your  delight 

When  night  says,  Hang  on  yon  moon's  horn 

Your  russet  gown,  and  rest  till  morn. 


THE  sun  is  dying;  space  and  room, 
Serenity,  vast  sense  of  rest, 

Lie  bosomed  in  the  orange  west 
Of  orient  waters.     Hear  the  boom 

Of  long,  strong  billows;  wave  on  wave, 
Like  funeral  guns  above  his  grave. 

Now  night  folds  all;  no  sign  or  word; 
But  still  that  rocking  of  the  deep  — 


76  SUNSET   AND   DAWN   IN   SAN    DIEGO. 

Sweet  mother,  rock  the  world  to  sleep: 
Still  rock  and  rock;   as  I  have  heard 

Some  mother  gently  rock  and  rock 
The  while  she  folds  the  little  frock. 


Broad  mesa,  brown,  bare  mountains,  brown, 

Bowed  sky  of  brown,  that  erst  was  blue; 
Dark,  earth-brown  curtains  coming  down  — 

Earth-brown,  that  all  hues  melt  into; 
Brown  twilight,  born  of  light  and  shade; 

Of  night  that  came,  of  light  that  passed.  .  .  . 
How  like  some  lorn,  majestic  maid 

That  wares  not  whither  way  at  last! 

Now  perfumed  Night,  sad-faced  and  far, 

Walks  up  the  world  in  somber  brown. 
Now  suddenly  a  loosened  star 

Lets  all  her  golden  hair  fall  down— 
And  Night  is  dead  Day's  coffin-lid, 

With  cords  of  gold  shot  through  his  pall.  .  .  . 
I  hear  the  chorus,  katydid; 

A  katydid,  and  that  is  all. 

Some  star-tipt  candles  foot  and  head; 

Some  perfumes  of  the  perfumed  sea; 
And  now  above  the  coffined  dead 

Dusk  draws  great  curtains  lovingly; 
While  far  o'er  all,  so  dreamful  far, 

God's  Southern  Cross  by  faith  is  seen 


SUNSET   AND    DAWN  IN    SAN  DIEGO.  77 

Tipt  by  one  single  blazing  star, 
With  spaces  infinite  between. 


Come,  love  His  twilight,  the  perfume 

Of  God's  great  trailing  garment's  hem; 
The  sense  of  rest,  the  sense  of  room, 

The  garnered  goodness  of  the  day, 
The  twelve  plucked  hours  of  His  tree, 

When  all  the  world  has  gone  its  way 
And  left  perfection  quite  to  me 

And  Him  who,  loving,  fashioned  them. 

I  know  not  why  that  wealth  and  pride 

Win  not  my  heart  or  woo  my  tale. 
I  only  know  I  know  them  not; 

I  only  know  to  cast  my  lot 
Where  God  walks  noiselessly  with  night 

And  patient  nature;  my  delight 
The  wild  rose  of  the  mountain  side, 

The  lowly  lily  of  the  vale: 

To  live  not  asking,  just  to  live; 

To  live  not  begging,  just  to  be; 
To  breathe  God's  presence  in  the  dusk 

That  drives  out  loud,  assertive  light  — 
To  never  ask,  but  ever  give; 

To  love  my  noiseless  mother,  Night; 
Her  vast  hair  moist  with  smell  of  musk- 

Ahj  this  indeed  were  wealth  to  me! 


78  SUNSET   AND   DAWN   IN    SAN   DIEGO. 

A  hermit's  path,  a  mountain's  perch, 
A  sandaled  monk,  a  dying  man  — 

A  far-off,  low,  adobe  church, 

So  far,  its  spire  seems  but  a  span 

Below  the  hermit's  orange-trees 

That  cap  the  clouds  above  the  seas. 

A  low-voiced  dove! 

The  dying  Don 

Put  back  the  cross  and  sat  dark-browed 
And  sullen,  as  a  dove  flew  out 
The  bough,  and  circling  round  about, 

Was  bathed  and  gathered  in  a  cloud, 
That,  like  some  ship,  sailed  on  and  on. 

But  let  the  gray  monk  tell  the  tale  ; 

And  tell  it  just  as  told  to  me. 
This  Don  was  chiefest  of  the  vale 

That  banks  by  San  Diego's  sea, 
And  who  so  just,  so  generous, 
As  he  who  now  lay  dying  thus? 

But  wrong,  such  shameless  Saxon  wrong, 
Had  crushed  his  heart,  had  made  him  hate 

The  sight,  the  very  sound,  of  man. 
He  loved  the  lonely  wood-dove's  song; 

He  loved  it  as  his  living  mate. 

And  lo!  the  good  monk  laid  a  ban 

And  penance  of  continual  prayer  — 

But  list,  the  living,  dying  there! 


SUNSET   AND   DAWN    IN   SAN    DIEGO.  79 

For  now  the  end  was,  and  he  lay 

As  day  lies  banked  against  the  night  — 

As  lies  some  bark  at  close  of  day 

To  wait  the  dew-born  breath  of  night; 

To  wait  the  ebb  of  tide,  to  wait 

The  lone  plunge  through  the  Golden  Gate: 

From  land-locked  bay  to  boundless  sea  — 
From  dusk  through  narrow  straits  of  night, 

Dim  time  to  bright  eternity  — 
To  everlasting  walks  of  light. 

Some  like  as  when  you  turn  and  blow 

Your  candle  out  and  groping  go. 

But  now  the  monk  reproved  the  man, 
The  proud  old  Don,  who  never  spake 

One  single  prayer  for  his  soul's  sake, 
But,  scorning,  died  beneath  the  ban. 


I. 

"  You  fled  my  flock,  and  sought  this  steep 
And  stony,  star-lit,  lonely  height, 

Where  weird  and  unnamed  creatures  keep 
To  hold  strange  thought  with  things  of  night 

Long,  long  ago.     But  now  at  last 

Your  life  sinks  surely  to  the  past. 

Lay  hold,  lay  hold,  the  cross  I  bring, 

Where  all  God's  goodly  creatures  cling. 


80  SUNSET    AND    DAWN   IN   SAN   DIEGO. 

"Yea!    You  are  good.    Dark-browed  and  low 

Beneath  your  shaggy  brows  you  look 

On  me,  as  you  would  read  a  book: 

And  darker  still  your  dark  brows  grow 

As  I  lift  up  the  cross  to  pray, 

And  plead  with  you  to  walk  its  way. 

"Yea,  you  are  good!     There  is  not  one, 
From  Tia  Juana  to  the  reach 
And  bound  of  gray  Pacific  Beach, 
From  Coronado's  palm-set  isle 
And  palm-hung  pathways,  mile  on  mile, 
But  speaks  you,  Senor,  good  and  true. 
But  oh,  my  silent,  dying  son! 
The  cross  alone  can  speak  for  you 
When  all  is  said  and  all  is  done. 

"  Come!     Turn  your  dim,  dear  eyes  to  me; 
Have  faith  and  help  me  plant  this  cross 
Beyond  where  blackest  billows  toss, 
As  you  would  plant  some  pleasant  tree, 
Some  fruitful  orange-tree,  and  know 
That  it  shall  surely  grow  and  grow, 
As  your  own  orange-trees  have  grown, 
And  be,  as  they,  your  very  own. 

"You  smile  at  last,  and  pleasantly: 
You  love  your  laden  orange- trees 
Set  high  above  your  silver  seas 
With  your  own  honest  hand;  each  tree 


SUNSET    AND   DAWN   IN   SAN    DIEGO.  81 

A  date,  a  day,  a  part,  indeed, 

Of  your  own  life,  and  walk,  and  creed. 

"You  love  your  steeps,  your  star-set  blue: 
You  watch  yon  billows  flash,  and  toss, 
And  leap,  and  curve,  in  merry  rout, 
You  love  to  hear  them  laugh  and  shout — 
Men  say  you  hear  them  talk  to  you; 
Men  say  you  sit  and  look  and  look, 
As  one  who  reads  some  holy  book  — 
My  son,  wouldst  look  upon  the  cross? 

"  Come,  see  me  plant  amid  your  trees 
My  cross,  that  you  may  see  and  know 
'T  will  surely  grow,  and  grow,  and  grow, 
As  grows  some  trusted  little  seed; 
As  grows  some  secret,  small  good  deed; 
The  while  you  gaze  upon  your  seas.  .  .  . 
Sweet  Christ,  now  let  it  grow,  and  bear 
Fair  fruit,  as  your  own  fruit  is  fair. 

"Aye!  ever  from  the  first  I  knew, 
And  marked  its  flavor,  freshness,  hue, 
The  gold  of  sunset  and  the  gold 
Of  morn,  in  each  rich  orange  rolled. 

"  I  mind  me  now,  'twas  long  since,  friend, 
When  first  I  climbed  your  path  alone, 
A  savage  path  of  brush  and  stone, 
And  rattling  serpents  without  end. 


82  SUNSET   AND   DAWN   IN    SAN   DIEGO. 

"  Yea,  years  ago,  when  blood  and  life 
Ran  swift,  and  your  sweet,  faithful  wife  — 
What!  tears  at  last;  hot,  piteous  tears 
That  through  your  bony  fingers  creep 
The  while  you  bend  your  face,  and  weep 
As  if  your  heart  of  hearts  would  break  — 
As  if  these  tears  were  your  heart's  blood, 
A  pent-up,  sudden,  bursting  flood  — 
Look  on  the  cross,  for  Jesus'  sake." 


II. 


'T  was  night,  and  still  it  seemed  not  night. 
Yet,  far  down  in  the  canon  deep, 
Where  night  had  housed  all  day,  to  keep 
Companion  with  the  wolf,  you  might 
Have  hewn  a  statue  out  of  night. 

The  shrill  coyote  loosed  his  tongue 
Deep  in  the  dark  arroyo's  bed; 
And  bat  and  owl  above  his  head 
From  out  their  gloomy  caverns  swung: 
A  swoop  of  wings,  a  cat-like  call, 
A  crackle  of  sharp  chaparral ! 

Then  sudden,  fitful  winds  sprang  out, 
And  swept  the  mesa  like  a  broom; 
W^ild,  saucy  winds,  that  sang  of  room! 
That  leapt  the  canon  with  a  shout 
From  dusty  throats,  audaciously 


SUNSET    AND   DAWN   IN    SAN    DIEGO.  83 

And  headlong  tore  into  the  sea, 
As  tore  the  swine  with  lifted  snout. 

Some  birds  came,  went,  then  came  again 
From  out  the  hermit's  wood-hung  hill; 
Came  swift,  and  arrow -like,  and  still, 
As  you  have  seen  birds,  when  the  rain  — 
The  great,  big,  high-born  rain,  leapt  white 
And  sudden  from  a  cloud  like  night. 

And  then  a  dove,  dear,  nunlike  dove, 

With  eyes  all  tenderness,  with  eyes 

So  loving,  longing,  full  of  love, 

That  when  she  reached  her  slender  throat 

And  sang  one  low,  soft,  sweetest  note, 

Just  one,  so  faint,  so  far,  so  near, 

You  could  have  wept  with  joy  to  hear. 

The  old  man,  as  if  he  had  slept, 

Raised  quick  his  head,  then  bowed  and  wept 

For  joy,  to  hear  once  more  her  voice. 

With  childish  joy  he  did  rejoice 

As  one  will  joy  to  surely  learn 

His  dear,  dead  love  is  living  still; 

As  one  will  joy  to  know,  in  turn, 

He  too  is  loved  \yith  love  to  kill. 

He  put  a  hand  forth,  let  it  fall 

And  feebly  close;  and  that  was  all. 

And  then  he  turned  his  tearful  eyes 

To  meet  the  priest's,  and  spake  this  wise:  — 


84  SUNSET   AND    DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO. 

Now  mind,  I  say,  not  one  more  word 
That  livelong  night  of  nights  was  heard 
By  monk  or  man,  from  dusk  till  dawn; 
And  yet  that  man  spake  on  and  on. 

Why,  know  you  not,  soul  speaks  to  soul? 
I  say  the  use  of  words  shall  pass. 
Words  are  but  fragments  of  the  glass; 
But  silence  is  the  perfect  whole. 

And  thus  the  old  man,  bowed  and  wan, 
And  broken  in  his  body,  spake  — 
Spake  youthful,  ardent,  on  and  on, 
As  dear  love  speaks  for  dear  love's  sake. 

"You  spake  of  her,  my  wife;  behold! 
Behold  my  faithful,  constant  love! 
Nay,  nay,  you  shall  not  doubt  my  dove, 
Perched  there  above  your  cross  of  gold! 

"Yea,  you  have  books,  I  know,  to  tell 

Of  far,  fair  heaven;  but  no  hell 

To  her  had  been  so  terrible 

As  all  sweet  heaven,  with  its  gold 

And  jasper  gates,  and  great  white  throne, 

Had  she  been  banished  herice  alone. 

"I  say,  not  God  himself  could  keep, 
Beyond  the  stars,  beneath  the  deep, 
Or  mid  the  stars,  or  mid  the  sea, 


SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO.  85 

Her  soul  from  my  soul  one  brief  day, 
But  she  would  find  some  pretty  way 
To  come  and  still  companion  me. 

"And  say,  where  bide  your  souls,  good  priest? 

Lies  heaven  west,  lies  heaven  east? 

Let  us  be  frank,  let  us  be  fair; 

Where  is  your  heaven,  good  priest,  where? 

"Is  there  not  room,  is  there  not  place 
In  all  those  boundless  realms  of  space? 
Is  there  not  room  in.  this  sweet  air, 
Room  mid  my  trees,  room  anywhere, 
For  souls  that  love  us  thus  so  well, 
And  love  so  well  this  beauteous  world, 
But  that  they  must  be  headlong  hurled 
Down,  down,  to  undiscovered  hell? 

"  Good  priest,  we  questioned  not  one  word 

Of  all  the  holy  things  we  heard 

Down  in  your  pleasant  town  of  palms 

Long,  long  ago  —  sweet  chants,  sweet  psalms, 

Sweet  incense,  and  the  solemn  rite 

Above  the  dear,  believing  dead. 

Nor  do  I  question  here  to-night 

One  gentle  word  you  may  have  said. 

I  would  not  doubt,  for  one  brief  hour, 

Your  word,  your  creed,  your  priestly  power. 

"  Let  those  who  will,  seek  realms  above, 
Remote  from  all  that  heart  can  love, 


86  SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO. 

In  their  ignoble  dread  of  hell. 
Give  all,  good  priest,  in  charity; 
Give  heaven  to  all,  if  this  may  be, 
And  count  it  well,  and  very  well. 

':But  I  —  I  could  not  leave  this  spot 
Where  she  is  waiting  by  my  side. 
Forgive  me,  priest;  it  is  not  pride; 
There  is  no  God  where  she  is  not! 

"You  did  not  know  her  well.     Her  creed 
Was  yours;  my  faith  it  was  the  same. 
My  faith  was  fair,  my  lands  were  broad. 
Far  down  where  yonder  palm-trees  rise 
We  two  together  worshiped  God 
From  childhood.     And  we  grew  in  deed, 
Devout  in  heart  as  well  as  name, 
And  loved  our  palm-set  paradise. 

"  We  loved,  we  loved  all  things  on  earth, 
However  mean  or  miserable. 
We  knew  no  thing  that  had  not  worth, 
And  learned  to  know  no  need  of  hell. 

"Indeed,  good  priest,  so  much,  indeed, 
We  found  to  do,  we  saw  to  love, 
We  did  not  always  look  above 
As  is  commanded  in  your  creed, 
But  kept  in  heart  one  chiefest  care, 
To  make  this  fair  world  still  more  fair. 


SUNSET    AND    DAWN   IN    SAN   DIEGO.  87 

"  'T  was  then  that  meek,  paie  Saxon  came; 

With  souless  gray  and  greedy  eyes, 

A  snake's  eyes,  cunning,  cold,  and  wise, 

And  I  —  I  could  not  fight,  or  fly 

His  crafty  wiles,  at  all;  and  I  — 

Enough,  enough!     I  signed  my  name. 

"It  was  notioss  of  pleasure,  place, 
Broad  lands,  or  the  serene  delight 
Of  doing  good,  that  made  long  night 
O'er  all  the  sunlight  of  her  face. 

"  But  there  be  little  things  that  feed 
A  woman's  sweetness,  day  by  day, 

That  strong  men  miss  not,  do  not  need, 
But,  shorn  of  all,  can  go  their  way 

To  battle,  and  but  stronger  grow, 

As  grow  great  waves  that  gather  so. 

"  She  missed  the  music,  missed  the  song, 
The  pleasant  speech  of  courteous  men, 

Who  came  and  went,  a  comely  throng, 
Before  her  open  window,  when 

The  sea  sang  with  us,  and  we  two 

Had  heartfelt  homage,  warm  and  true. 

"  She  missed  the  restfulness,  the  rest 
Of  dulcet  silence,  the  delight 
Of  singing  silence,  when  the  town 
Put  on  its  twilight  robes  of  brown; 


88  SUNSET    AND   DAWN   IN   SAN   DIEGO. 

When  twilight  wrapped  herself  in  night 
And  couched  against  the  curtained  west. 


"  But  not  one  murmur,  not  one  word 
From  her  sweet  baby  lips  was  heard. 
She  only  knew  I  could  not  bear 
To  see  sweet  San  Diego  town, 
Her  palm-set  lanes,  her  pleasant  square, 
Her  people  passing  up  and  down, 
Without  black  hate,  and  deadly  hate 
For  him  who  housed  within  our  gate. 

"  How  pale  she  grew,  how  piteous  pale 
The  while  I  wrought,  and  ceaseless  wrought 
To  keep  my  soul  from  bitter  thought, 
And  build  me  high  above  the  vale. 
Ah  me!  my  selfish,  Spanish  pride! 
Enough  of  pride,  enough  of  hate, 
Enough  of  her  sad,  piteous  fate: 
She  died:  right  here  she  sank  and  died. 

"  She  died,  and  with  her  latest  breath 
Did  promise  to  return  to  me, 
As  turns  a  dove  unto  her  tree 
To  find  her  mate  at  night  and  rest; 
Died,  clinging  close  unto  my  breast; 
Died,  saying  she  would  surely  rise 
So  soon  as  God  had  loosed  her  eyes 
From  the  strange  wonderment  of  death. 


SUNSET   AND   DAWN   IN    SAN    DIEGO.  89 

"  How  beautiful  is  death!  and  how 

Surpassing  good,  and  true,  and  fair! 

How  just  is  death,  how  gently  just, 

To  lay  his  sword  against  the  thread 

Of  life  when  life  is  surely  dead 

And  loose  the  sweet  soul  from  the  dust! 

I  laid  her  in  my  lorn  despair 

Beneath  that  dove,  that  orange-bough  — 

How  strange  your  cross  should  stand  just  there ! 

"And  then  I  waited  hours  and  days: 
Those  bitter  days,  they  were  as  years. 
My  soul  groped  through  the  darkest  ways; 
I  scarce  could  see  God's  face  for  tears. 


"  I  clutched  my  knife,  and  I  crept  down, 
A  wolf,  to  San  Diego  town. 
On,  on,  mid  mine  own  palms  once  more, 
Keen  knife  in  hand,  I  crept  that  night. 
I  passed  the  gate;  then  fled  in  fright; 
Black  crape  hung  fluttered  from  the  door! 

"  I  climbed  back  here,  with  heart  of  stone: 
I  heard  next  morn  one  sweetest  tone; 
Looked  up,  and  lo!  there  on  that  bough 
She  perched,  as  she  sits  perching  now. 


90  SUNSET   AND   DAWN    IN    SAN   DIEGO. 

"  I  heard  the  bells  peal  from  my  height, 
Peal  pompously,  peal  piously; 
Saw  sable  hearse,  in  plumes  of  night, 
With  not  one  thought  of  hate  in  me. 

"  I  watched  the  long  train  winding  by, 

A  mournful,  melancholy  lie  — 

A  sable,  solemn,  mourning  mile  — 

And  only  pitied  him  the  while. 

For  she,  she  sang  that  whole  day  through: 

Sad-voiced,  as  if  she  pitied,  too. 

"  They  said,  '  His  work  is  done,  and  well.' 
They  laid  his  body  in  his  tomb 
Of  massive  splendor.     It  lies  there 
In  all  its  stolen  pomp  and  gloom  — 
But  list!  his  soul  —  his  soul  is  where? 
In  hell!     In  hell!     But  where  is  hell? 

"  Hear  me  but  this.     Year  after  year 
She  trained  my  eye,  she  trained  my  ear; 
No  book  to  blind  my  eyes,  or  ought 
To  prate  of  hell,  where  hell  is  not. 
I  came  to  know  at  last,  and  well, 
Such  things  as  never  book  can  tell. 

"And  where  was  that  poor,  dismal  soul 
Ye  priests  had  sent  to  Paradise? 
I  heard  the  long  years  roll  and  roll, 
As  rolls  the  Sea.     My  once  dimmed  eyes 


SUNSET   AND   DAWN   IN    SAN    DIEGO.  91 

Grew  keen  as  long,  sharp  shafts  of  light. 
With  eager  eyes  and  reaching  face 
I  searched  the  stars  night  after  night: 
That  dismal  soul  was  not  in  space! 

"  Meanwhile  my  green  trees  grew  and  grew; 
And,  sad  or  glad,  this  much  I  knew, 
It  were  no  sin  to  make  more  fair 
One  spot  on  earth,  to  toil  and  share 
With  man,  or  beast,  or  bird;  while  she 
Still  sang  her  soft,  sweet  melody. 

"  One  day,  a  perfumed  day  in  white  — 

Such  restful,  fresh,  and  friendlike  day, — 

Fair  Mexico  a  mirage  lay 

Far-lifted  in  a  sea  of  light  — 

Soft  purple  light,  so  far  away. 

I  turned  yon  pleasant  pathway  down, 

And  sauntered  leisurely  toward  town. 

'•  I  heard  my  dear  love  call  and  coo, 
And  knew  that  she  was  happy,  too, 
In  her  sad,  sweet,  and  patient  pain 
Of  waiting  till  I  came  again. 

"Aye,  I  was  glad,  quite  glad  at  last: 
Not  glad  as  I  had  been  when  she 
Walked  with  me  by  yon  palm-set  sea, 
But  sadly  and  serenely  glad: 
As  though  'twere  twilight  like,  as  though 
You  knew,  and  yet  you  did  not  know, 


92  SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IX    SAN    DIEGO. 

That  sadness,  most  supremely  sad 
Should  lay  upon  you  like  a  pall, 
And  would  not,  could  not  pass  away 
Till  midnight  through  the  perfect  day 
Dawns  sudden  on  you,  and  the  call 
Of  birds  awakens  you  to  morn  — 
A  babe  new-born;  a  soul  new-born. 

"  Good  priest,  what  are  the  birds  for?    Priest, 

Build  ye  your  heaven  west  or  east? 

Above,  below,  or  anywhere  ? 

I  only  ask,  I  only  say 

She  sits  there,  waiting  for  the  day, 

The  fair,  full  day,  to  guide  me  there. 


"  What,  he?     That  creature?     Ah,  quite  true! 
I  wander  much,  I  weary  you: 
I  beg  your  pardon,  gentle  priest. 
Returning  up  the  stone-strewn  steep, 
Down  in  yon  jungle,  dank  and  deep, 
Where  toads  and  venomed  reptiles  creep, 
There,  there,  I  saw  that  hideous  beast! 

"Aye,  there!  right  there,  beside  my  road, 
Close  coiled  behind  a  monstrous  toad, 
A  huge,  flat-bellied  reptile  hid ! 
His  tongue  leapt  red  as  flame;  his  eyes, 
His  eyes  were  burning  hells  of  lies  — 
His  head  was  like  a  coffin's  lid: 


SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO.  93 

"Saint  George!      Saint  George!     I  gasped  for 

breath. 

The  beast,  tight  coiled>  swift  at  me  sprang 
High  in  the  air,  and,  rattling,  sang 
His  hateful,  hissing  song  of  death! 

"  My  eyes  met  his.     He  shrank,  he  fell, 
Fell  sullenly  and  slow.     The  swell 
Of  braided,  brassy  neck  forgot 
Its  poise,  and  every  venomed  spot 
Lost  luster,  and  the  coffin  head 
Cowed  level  with  the  toad,  and  lay 
Low,  quivering  with  hate  and  dread: 
The  while  I  kept  my  upward  way. 

"  What!     Should  have  killed  him?     Nay,  good 

priest. 

I  know  not  what  or  where  's  your  hell. 
But  be  it  west  or  be  it  east, 
His  hell  is  there!  and  that  is  well! 

"  Nay,  do  not,  do  not  question  me; 
I  could  not  tell  you  why  I  know; 
I  only  know  that  this  is  so, 
As  sure  as  God  is  equity. 

"  Good  priest,  forgive  me,  and  good-by. 
The  stars  slow  gather  to  their  fold. 
I  see  God's  garment's  hem  of  gold 
Against  the  far,  faint  morning  sky. 


94  SUNSET    AND    DAWN    IN    SAN    DIEGO. 

"  Good,  holy  priest,  your  God  is  where? 
You  come  to  me  with  book  and  creed; 
I  cannot  read  your  book;  I  read 
Yon  boundless,  open  book  of  air. 
What  time,  or  way,  or  place  I  look, 
I  see  God  in  His  garden  walk; 
I  hear  Him  through  the  thunders  talk, 
As  once  He  talked,  with  burning  tongue, 
To  Moses,  when  the  world  was  young; 
And,  priest,  what  more  is  in  your  book? 

"  Behold!  the  Holy  Grail  is  found, 
Found  in  each  poppy's  cup  of  gold; 
And  God  walks  with  us  as  of  old. 
Behold!  the  burning  bush  still  burns 
For  man,  whichever  way  he  turns; 
And  all  God's  earth  is  holy  ground. 

"And  —  and  —  good  priest,  bend  low  your  head, 
The  sands  are  crumbling  where  I  tread, 
Beside  the  shoreless,  soundless  sea. 
Good  priest,  you  came  to  pray,  you  said ; 
And  now,  what  would  you  have  of  me?  " 

The  good  priest  sudden  raised  his  head, 

Then  bowed  it  low  and  gently  said: 

"  Your  blessing,  son,  despite  the  ban." 

He  fell  before  the  dying  man; 

And  when  he  raised  his  face  from  prayer, 

Sweet  Dawn,  and  two  sweet  doves  were  there. 


A    SONG    OF    THE     SOUNDLESS 
RIVER. 


PART   I. 

Rhyme  on,  rhyme  on,  in  reedy  flow, 

0  river,  rhymer  ever  sweet ! 

The  story  of  thy  land  is  meet; 
The  stars  stand  listening  to  know. 

Rhyme  on,  0  river  of  the  earth  ! 
Gray  father  of  the  dreadful  seas, 
Rhyme  on  !  the  .world  upon  its  knees 

Invokes  thy  songs,  thy  wealth,  thy  worth. 

Rhyme  on!  the  reed  is  at  thy  mouth, 

0  kingly  minstrel,  migh'y  stream! 
Thy  Crescent  City,  like  a  dream, 

Hangs  in  the  heaven  of  my  South. 

Rhyme  on,  rhyme  on !  these  broken  strings 
Sing  sweetest  in  this  warm  south  wind; 

1  sit  thy  willow  banks  and  bind 
A  broken  harp  that  fitful  sings. 

95 


96  A    SONG    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    KIVER. 

I. 

AND  where   is  my   silent,   sweet  blossom -sown 

town? 

And  where  is  her  glory,  and  what  has  she  done? 
By  her  Mexican  seas  in  the  path  of  the  sun, 
Sit  you  down;  in  her  crescent  of  seas,   sit  you 
down. 

Aye,  glory  enough  by  her  Mexican  seas! 
Aye,  story  enough  in  that  battle-torn  town, 
Hidden  down  in  her  crescent  of  seas,  hidden 
down 

In  her  mantle  and  sheen  of  magnolia-white  trees. 

But  mine  is  the  story  of  souls;  of  a  soul 
That    bartered    God's   limitless   kingdom    for 

gold  — 

Sold  stars  and  all  space  for  a  thing  he  did  hold 
In  his  palm  for  a  day;  and  then  hid  with  the 
mole. 

Sad  soul  of  a  rose-land,  of  moss-mantled  oak  — 

Gray,  Druid- old  oaks;  and  the  moss  that  sways 
And  swings  in  the  wind  is  the  battle-smoke 

Of  duelists  dead,  in  her  storied  days. 
Sad  soul  of  a  love-land,  of  church-bells  and  chimes ; 

A  love-land  of  altars  and  orange-flowers; 
And  that  is  the  reason  for  all  these  rhymes, — 

These  church-bells  are  ringing  through  all  the 
hours! 


A    SONC;    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER.  97 

This  sun-land  of  churches,  of  priests  at  prayer, 
White  nuns,  that  are  white  as  the  far  north 

snow; 
They  go  where  duty  may  bid  them  go, — 

They  dare  when  the  angel  of  death  is  there. 

This  land  has  ladies  so  fair,  so  fair, 

In  their  Creole  quarter,  with  great  black  eyes  — 
So  fair  that  the  Mayor  must  keep  them  there 

Lest  troubles,  like  troubles  of  Troy,  arise. 

This  sun-land  has  ladies,  with  eyes  held  down, 
Held  down,  because  if  they  lifted  them, 

Why,  you  would  be  lost  in  that  old  French  town, 
Though  even  you  held  to  God's  garment  hem. 

This  love-land  has  ladies  so  fair,  so  fair, 
That  they  bend  their  eyes  to  the  holy  book, 

Lest  you  should  forget  yourself,  your  prayer, 
And  never  more  cease  to  look  and  to  look. 

And  these  are  the  ladies  that  no  men  see, 
And  this  is  the  reason  men  see  them  not. 

Better  their  modest,  sweet  mystery  — 
Better  by  far  than  red  battle-shot. 

And  so,  in  this  curious  old  town  of  tiles, 

The  proud  French  quarter  of  days  long  gone, 

In  castles  of  Spain  and  tumble-down  piles, 
The?e  wonderful  ladies  live  on  and  on. 


98  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

I  sit  in  the  church  where  they  come  and  go; 

I  dream  of  glory  that  has  long  since  gone; 
Of  the  low  raised  high,  of  the  high  brought  low 

As  in  battle-torn  days  of  Napoleon. 

These  grass-plaited  places,  so  rich,  so  poor! 

One  quaint  old  church  at  the  edge  of  the  town 
Has  white  tombs  laid  to  the  very  church-door  — 

White  leaves  in  the  story  of  life  turned  down. 

White  leaves  in  the  story  of  life  are  these, 
The  low  white  slabs  in  the  long,  strong  grass, 
Where  glory  has  emptied  her  hourglass, 

And  dreams  with  the  dreamers  beneath  the  trees. 

I  dream  with  the  dreamers  beneath  the  sod, 
Where  souls  pass  by  to  the  great  white  throne; 
I  count  each  tomb  as  a  mute  milestone 

For  weary,  sweet  souls  on  their  way  to  God. 

I  sit  all  day  by  the  vast,  strong  stream, 

Mid  low  white  slabs  in  the  long,  strong  grass, 
Where  time  has  forgotten  for  aye  to  pass, 

To  dream,  and  ever  to  dream  and  to  dream. 

This  quaint  old  church,  with  its  dead  to  the  door, 
By  the  cypress  swamp  at  the  edge  of  the  town, 
So  restful  it  seems  that  you  want  to  sit  down 

And  rest  you,  and  rest  you  for  evermore. 


A    SONG    OF    THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  99 

And  one  white  stone  is  a  lowliest  tomb 

That  has  crept  up  close  to  the  crumbling  door, — 

Some  penitent  soul,  as  imploring  room 
Close  under  the  cross  that  is  leaning  o'er. 

'T  is  a  low  white  slab,  and  't  is  nameless,  too, — 
Her  untold  story,  why,  who  should  know? 

Yet  God,  I  reckon,  can  read  right  through 
That  nameless  stone  to  the  bosom  below. 

Aye,  the  roses  know,  and  they  pity  her,  too; 
They  bend  their  heads  in  the  sun  or  rain, 
And  they  read,  and  they  read,  and  then  read 
again, 

As  children  reading  strange  pictures  through. 

Why,  surely  her  sleep  it  should  be  profound; 

For  oh,  the  apples  of  gold  above! 

And  oh,  the  blossoms  of  bridal  love! 
And  oh,  the  roses  that  gather  around! 

The  sleep  of  a  night  or  a  thousand  morns  — 
Why,  what  is  the  difference  here,  to-day? 
Sleeping  and  sleeping  the  years  away, 

With  all  earth's  roses  and  none  of  its  thorns. 

Magnolias  white,  roses  white  and  red  — 
The  palm-tree  here  and  the  cypress  there: 

Sit  down  by  the  palm  at  the  feet  of  the  dead, 
And  hear  a  penitent's  midnight  prayer. 


100     A  SONG  OP  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER. 


II. 

The  old  churchyard  is  still  as  death; 
A  stranger  passes  to  and  fro, 
As  if  to  church  —  he  does  not  go; 

The  dead  night  does  not  draw  a  breath. 

A  lone  sweet  lady  prays  within. 
The  stranger  passes  by  the  door  — 
Will  he  not  pray?     Is  he  so  poor 

He  has  no  prayer  for  his  sin? 

Is  he  so  poor?     Why,  two  strong  hands 
Are  full  and  heavy,  as  with  gold; 

They  clasp  as  clasp  two  iron  bands 
About  two  bags  with  eager  hold. 

Will  he  not  pause  and  enter  in, 
Put  down  his  heavy  load  and  rest, 

Put  off  his  garmenting  of  sin, 

As  some  black  mantle  from  his  breast? 

Ah  me!  the  brave  alone  can  pray. 

The  church-door  is  as  cannon's  mouth 
For  crime  to  face,  or  North  or  South, 

More  dreaded  than  dread  battle-day. 


Now  two  men  pace.     They  pace  apart; 
And  one  with  youth  and  truth  is  fair; 


A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  101 

The  fervid  sun  is  in  his  heart, 
The  tawny  South  is  in  his  hair. 

Aye,  two  men  pace  —  pace  left  and  right, — 
The  lone  sweet  lady  prays  within; 

Aye,  two  men  pace;  the  silent  night 
Kneels  down  in  prayer  for  some  sin. 

Lo!  two  men  pace;  and  one  is  gray, 
A  blue-eyed  man  from  snow-clad  land, 
With  something  heavy  in  each  hand, — 

With  heavy  feet,  as  feet  of  clay. 

Aye,  two  men  pace;  and  one  is  light 
Of  step,  but  still  his  brow  is  dark; 
His  eyes  are  as  a  kindled  spark 

That  burns  beneath  the  brow  of  night! 

And  still  they  pace.     The  stars  are  red, 
The  tombs  are  white  as  frosted  snow; 

The  silence  is  as  if  the  dead 
Did  pace  in  couples  to  and  fro. 


III. 

The  azure  curtain  of  God's  house 

Draws  back,  and  hangs  star-pinned  to  space; 
I  hear  the  low,  large  moon  arouse, 

And  slowly  lift  her  languid  face. 


102  A   SONG  OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

I  see  her  shoulder  up  the  east, 

Low-necked,  and  large  as  womanhood, — 
Low-necked,  as  for  some  ample  feast 

Of  gods,  within  yon  orange-wood. 

She  spreads  white  palms,  she  whispers  peace, — 
Sweet  peace  on  earth  forevermore; 

Sweet  peace  for  two  beneath  the  trees, 
Sweet  peace  for  one  within  the  door. 

The  bent  stream,  as  God's  scimitar, 
Flashed  in  the  sun,  sweeps  on  and  on, 
Till  sheathed,  like  some  great  sword  new- 
drawn, 

In  seas  beneath  the  Carib's  star. 

The  high  moon  climbs  the  sapphire  hill, 
The  lone  sweet  lady  prays  within; 
The  crickets  keep  such  clang  and  din  — 

They  are  so  loud,  earth  is  so  still! 

And  two  men  glare  in  silence  there! 
The  bitter,  jealous  hate  of  each 
Has  grown  too  deep  for  deed  or  speech  — 

The  lone  sweet  lady  keeps  her  prayer. 

The  vast  moon  high  through  heaven's  field 

In  circling  chariot  is  rolled; 
The  golden  stars  are  spun  and  reeled, 

And  woven  into  cloth  of  gold. 


A   SONG   OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  103 

The  white  magnolia  fills  the  night 

With  perfume,  as  the  proud  moon  fills 

The  glad  earth  with  her  ample  light 
From  out  her  awful  sapphire  hills. 

White  orange-blossoms  fill  the  boughs 
Above,  about  the  old  church-door; 

They  wait  the  bride,  the  bridal  vows, — 
They  never  hung  so  fair  before. 

The  two  men  glare  as  dark  as  sin! 
And  yet  all  seems  so  fair,  so  white, 
You  would  not  reckon  it  was  night, — 

The  while  the  lady  prays  within. 


IV. 

She  prays  so  very  long  and  late, — 
The  two  men,  weary,  waiting  there, — 

The  great  magnolia  at  the  gate 
Bends  drowsily  above  her  prayer. 

The  cypress  in  his  cloak  of  moss, 
That  watches  on  in  silent  gloom, 

Has  leaned  and  shaped  a  shadow-cross 
Above  the  nameless,  lowly  tomb. 


104     A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER. 

What  can  she  pray  for?     What  her  sin? 

What  folly  of  a  maid  so  fair? 

What  shadows  bind  the  wondrous  hair 
Of  one  who  prays  so  long  within? 

The  palm-trees  guard  in  regiment, 
Stand  right  and  left  without  the  gate; 
The  myrtle- moss  trees  wait  and  wait; 

The  tall  magnolia  leans  intent. 

The  cypress-trees,  on  gnarled  old  knees, 
Far  out  the  dank  and  marshy  deep 
Where  slimy  monsters  groan  and  creep, 

Kneel  with  her  in  their  marshy  seas. 

What  can  her  sin  be?     Who  shall  know? 

The  night  flies  by,—  a  bird  on  wing; 
The  men  no  longer  to  and  fro 

Stride  up  and  down,  or  anything. 

For  one,  so  weary  and  so  old, 

Has  hardly  strength  to  stride  or  stir; 

He  can  but  hold  his  bags  of  gold,— • 
But  hug  his  gold  and  wait  for  her. 

The  two  stand  still, —  stand  face  to  face. 
The  moon  slides  on;  the  midnight  air 
Is  perfumed  as  a  house  of  prayer, — 

The  maiden  keeps  her  holy  place. 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER.     105 

Two  men!     And  one  is  gray,  but  one 
Scarce  lifts  a  full-grown  face  as  yet: 
With  light  foot  on  life's  threshold  set, — 

Is  he  the  other's  sun-born  son? 

And  one  is  of  the  land  of  snow, 

And  one  is  of  the  land  of  sun; 

A  black-eyed,  burning  youth  is  one, 
But  one  has  pulses  cold  and  slow: 

Aye,  cold  and  slow  from  clime  of  snow 
Where  Nature's  bosom,  icy  bound, 
Holds  all  her  forces,  hard,  profound, — 

Holds  close  where  all  the  South  lets  go. 

Blame  not  the  sun,  blame  not  the  snows, — 
God's  great  schoolhouse  for  all  is  clime; 
The  great  school-teacher,  Father  Time, 

And  each  has  borne  as  best  he  knows. 

At  last  the  elder  speaks, —  he  cries, — 
He  speaks  as  if  his  heart  would  break; 

He  speaks  out  as  a  man  that  dies, — 
As  dying  for  some  lost  love's  sake: 

"Come,  take  this  bag  of  gold,  and  go! 

Come,  take  one  bag!     See,  I  have  two! 
Oh,  why  stand  silent,  staring  so, 

When  I  would  share  my  gold  with  you? 


106     A  SONG  OF  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER. 

"Come,  take  this  gold!     See  how  I  pray! 

See  how  I  bribe,  and  beg,  and  buy, — 
Aye,  buy!  buy  love,  as  you,  too,  may 

Some  day  before  you  come  to  die. 

"God!  take  this  gold,  I  beg,  I  pray! 
I  beg  as  one  who  thirsting  cries 
For  but  one  drop  of  drink,  and  dies 

In  some  lone,  loveless  desert  way. 

"  You  hesitate?     Still  hesitate? 

Stand  silent  still  and  mock  my  pain? 
Still  mock  to  see  me  wait  and  wait, 

And  wait  her  love,  as  earth  waits  rain?" 

V. 

0  broken  ship!     0  starless  shore! 

0  black  and  everlasting  night! 
Where  love  comes  never  any  more 

To  light  man's  way  with  heaven's  light. 

A  godless  man  with  bags  of  gold 

1  think  a  most  unholy  sight; 
Ah,  who  so  desolate  at  night, 

Amid  death's  sleepers  still  and  cold? 

A  godless  man  on  holy  ground 
I  think  a  most  unholy  sight. 

1  hear  death  trailing,  like  a  hound, 
Hard  after  him,  and  swift  to  bite. 


A    SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  107 

VI. 

The  vast  moon  settles  to  the  west; 

Yet  still  two  men  beside  that  tomb. 
And  one  would  sit  thereon  to  rest, — 

Aye,  rest  below,  if  there  were  room. 

VII. 

What  is  this  rest  of  death,  sweet  friend? 

What  is  the  rising  up, —  and  where? 

I  say,  death  is  a  lengthened  prayer, 
A  longer  night,  a  larger  end. 

Hear  you  the  lesson  I  once  learned: 
I  died;  I  sailed  a  million  miles 
Through  dreamful,  flowery,  restful  isles, — 

She  was  not  there,  and  I  returned. 

I  say  the  shores  of  death  and  sleep 
Are  one;  that  when  we,  wearied,  come 
To  Lethe's  waters,  and  lie  dumb, 

'T  is  death,  not  sleep,  holds  us  to  keep. 

Yea,  we  lie  dead  for  need  of  rest, 
And  so  the  soul  drifts  out  and  o'er 
The  vast  still  waters  to  the  shore 

Beyond,  in  pleasant,  tranquil  quest: 


108  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

It  sails  straight  on,  forgetting  pain, 
Past  isles  of  peace,  to  perfect  rest, — 
Now  were  it  best  abide,  or  best 

Return  and  take  up  life  again? 

And  that  is  all  of  death  there  is, 
Believe  me.     If  you  find  your  love 
In  that  far  land,  then,  like  the  dove, 

Pluck  olive-boughs  ere  back  to  this. 

But  if  you  find  your  love  not  there; 
Or  if  your  feet  feel  sure,  and  you 
Have  still  allotted  work  to  do, — 

Why,  then  haste  back  to  toil  and  care. 

Death  is  no  mystery.  'T  is  plain 
If  death  be  mystery,  then  sleep 
Is  mystery  thrice  strangely  deep, — 

For  oh,  this  coming  back  again! 

Austerest  ferryman  of  souls! 

I  see  the  gleam  of  sapphire  shores; 

I  hear  thy  steady  stroke  of  oars 
Above  the  wildest  wave  that  rolls. 

0  Charon,  keep  thy  sombre  ships! 

We  come,  with  neither  myrrh  nor  balm, 
Nor  silver  piece  in  open  palm, — 

Just  lone,  white  silence  on  our  lips. 


A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  109 


VIII. 

She  prays  so  long!  she  prays  so  late! 
What  sin  in  all  this  flower-land 
Against  her  supplicating  hand 

Could  have  in  heaven  any  weight? 

Prays  she  for  her  sweet  self  alone? 
Prays  she  for  some  one  far  away, 
Or  some  one  near  and  dear  to-day, 

Or  some  poor  lorn,  lost  soul  unknown? 

It  seems  to  me  a  selfish  thing 
To  pray  forever  for  one's  self; 
It  seems  to  me  like  heaping  pelf 

In  heaven  by  hard  reckoning. 

Why,  I  would  rather  stoop  and  bear 
My  load  of  sin,  and  bear  it  well 
And  bravely  down  to  burning  hell, 

Than  pray  and  pray  a  selfish  prayer! 


IX. 

The  swift  chameleon  in  the  gloom  — 
This  gray  morn  silence  so  profound!  — 
Forsakes  its  bough,  glides  to  the  ground, 

Then  up,  and  lies  across  the  tomb. 


110          A   SONG   OF    THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

It  erst  was  green  as  olive-leaf; 
It  then  grew  gray  as  myrtle  moss 
The  time  it  slid  the  tomb  across; 

And  now  't  is  marble-white  as  grief. 

The  little  creature's  hues  are  gone; 
Here  in  the  pale  and  ghostly  light 
It  lies  so  pale,  so  panting  white, — 

White  as  the  tomb  it  lies  upon. 

The  two  still  by  that  nameless  tomb! 

And  both  so  still!     You  might  have  said, 
These  two  men,  they  are  also  dead, 

And  only  waiting  here  for  room. 

How  still  beneath  the  orange- bough! 

How  tall  was  one,  how  bowed  was  one! 

The  one  was  as  a  journey  done, 
The  other  as  beginning  now. 

And  one  was  young, —  young  with  that  youth 

Eternal  that  belongs  to  truth ; 
And  one  was  old, —  old  with  the  years 

That  follow  fast  on  doubts  and  fears. 

And  yet  the  habit  of  command 
Was  his,  in  every  stubborn  part; 
No  common  knave  was  he  at  heart, 

Nor  his  the  common  coward's  hand. 


A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  Ill 

He  looked  the  young  man  in  the  face, 
So  full  of  hate,  so  frank  of  hate; 

The  other,  standing  in  his  place, 

Stared  back  as  straight  and  hard  as  fate. 

And  now  he  sudden  turned  away, 
And  now  he  paced  the  path,  and  now 
Came  back  beneath  the  orange-bough, 

Pale-browed,  with  lips  as  cold  as  clay. 

As  mute  as  shadows  on  a  wall, 
As  silent  still,  as  dark  as  they, 
Before  that  stranger,  bent  and  gray, 

The  youth  stood  scornful,  proud,  and  tall. 

He  stood  a  tall  palmetto-tree 

With  Spanish  daggers  guarding  it; 
Nor  deed,  nor  word,  to  him  seemed  fit 

While  she  prayed  on  so  silently. 

He  slew  his  rival  with  his  eyes; 

His  eyes  were  daggers  piercing  deep, — 
So  deep  that  blood  began  to  creep 

From  their  deep  wounds  and  drop  wordwise. 

His  eyes  so  black,  so  bright,  that  they 
Might  raise  the  dead,  the  living  slay, 
If  but  the  dead,  the  living  bore 
Such  hearts  as  heroes  had  of  yore. 


112  A    SONG   OF    THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

Two  deadly  arrows  barbed  in  black, 
And  feathered,  too,  with  raven's  wing; 
Two  arrows  that  could  silent  sting, 

And  with  a  death-wound  answer  back. 


How  fierce  he  was!  how  deadly  still 
In  that  mesmeric,  hateful  stare 
Turned  on  the  pleading  stranger  there 

That  drew  to  him,  despite  his  will! 

So  like  a  bird  down-fluttering, 

Down,  down,  beneath  a  snake's  bright  eyes, 
He  stood,  a  fascinated  thing, 

That  hopeless,  unresisting,  dies. 

He  raised  a  hard  hand  as  before, 
Reached  out  the  gold,  and  offered  it 
With  hand  that  shook  as  ague-fit, — 

The  while  the  youth  but  scorned  the  more. 

"You  will  not  touch  it?     In  God's  name, 
Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you,  then? 
Come,  take  this  gold,  and  be  of  men, — 

A  human  form  with  human  aim. 

"  Yea,  take  this  gold, —  she  must  be  mine! 
She  shall  be  mine!     I  do  not  fear 
Your  scowl,  your  scorn,  your  soul  austere, 

The  living,  dead,  or  your  dark  sign. 


A   SONG   OP   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  113 

"  I  saw  her  as  she  entered  there; 

I  saw  her,  and  uncovered  stood; 

The  perfume  of  her  womanhood 
Was  holy  incense  on  the  air. 

"  She  left  behind  sweet  sanctity, 

Religion  lay  the  way  she  went; 

I  cried  I  would  repent,  repent! 
She  passed  on,  all  unheeding  me. 

"  Her  soul  is  young,  her  eyes  are  bright 
And  gladsome,  as  mine  own  are  dim; 
But  oh,  I  felt  my  senses  swim 

The  time  she  passed  me  by  to-night!  — 

"  The  time  she  passed,  nor  raised  her  eyes 

To  hear  me  cry  I  would  repent, 
Nor  turned  her  head  to  hear  my  cries, 

But  swifter  went  the  way  she  went, — 

"  Went  swift  as  youth,  for  all  these  years! 
And  this  the  strangest  thing  appears, 
That  lady  there  seems  just  the  same, — 
Sweet  Gladys  —  Ah!  you  know  her  name? 

:'  You  hear  her  name  and  start  that  I 

Should  name  her  dear  name  trembling  so? 

Why,  boy,  when  I  shall  come  to  die 
That  name  shall  be  the  last  I  know. 


114          A   SONG    OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

"  That  name  shall  be  the  last  sweet  name 

My  lips  shall  utter  in  this  life! 
That  name  is  brighter  than  bright  flame, — 

That  lady  is  mine  own  sweet  wife! 

"  Ah,  start  and  catch  your  burning  breath! 

Ah,  start  and  clutch  you  deadly  knife! 
If  this  be  death,  then  be  it  death, — 

But  that  loved  lady  is  my  wife! 

';  Yea,  you  are  stunned!  your  face  is  white, 
That  I  should  come  confronting  you, 

As  comes  a  lorn  ghost  of  the  night 
From  out  the  past,  and  to  pursue. 

"  You  thought  me  dead?  You  shake  your  head, 
You  start  back  horrified  to  know 

That  she  is  loved,  that  she  is  wed, 
That  you  have  sinned  in  loving  so. 

"Yet  what  seems  strange,  that  lady  there, 
Housed  in  the  holy  house  of  prayer, 
Seems  just  the  same  for  all  her  tears, — 
For  all  my  absent  twenty  years. 

"  Yea,  twenty  years  to-night,  to-night, — 
Just  twenty  years  this  day,  this  hour. 
Since  first  I  plucked  that  perfect  flower, 

And  not  one  witness  of  the  rite. 


A   SONG   OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  115 

"  Nay,  do  not  doubt, —  I  tell  you  true ! 

Her  prayers,  tears,  her  constancy 

Are  all  for  me,  are  all  for  me, — 
And  not  one  single  thought  for  you! 

"  I  knew,  I  knew  she  would  be  here 
This  night  of  nights  to  pray  for  me! 

And  how  could  I  for  twenty  year 
Know  this  same  night  so  certainly? 

"Ah  me!  some  thoughts  that  we  would  drown 
Stick  closer  than  a  brother  to 
The  conscience,  and  pursue,  pursue, 

Like  baying  hound,  to  hunt  us  down. 

"And,  then,  that  date  is  history; 

For  on  that  night  this  shore  was  shelled, 
And  many  a  noble  mansion  felled, 

With  many  a  noble  family. 

"I  wore  the  blue;  I  watched  the  flight 
Of  shells,  like  stars  tossed  through  the  air 
To  blow  your  hearth-stones  —  anywhere, 

That  wild,  illuminated  night. 

"  Nay,  rage  befits  you  not  so  well: 
Why,  you  were  but  a  babe  at  best; 

Your  cradle  some  sharp  bursted  shell 
That  tore,  maybe,  your  mother's  breast! 


116  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

<;  Hear  me!  We  came  in  honored  war. 
The  risen  world  was  on  your  track  I 
The  whole  North-land  was  at  our  back, 

From  Hudson's  bank  to  the  North  Star! 

"And  from  the  North  to  palm-set  sea 
The  splendid  fiery  cyclone  swept. 
Your  fathers  fell,  your  mothers  wept, 

Their  nude  babes  clinging  to  the  knee. 

"A  wide  and  desolated  track: 

Behind,  a  path  of  ruin  lay; 

Before,  some  women  by  the  way 
Stood  mutely  gazing,  clad  in  black. 

"  From  silent  women  waiting  there 

White  tears  came  down  like  still,  small  rain; 
Their  own  sons  of  the  battle-plain 

Were  now  but  viewless  ghosts  of  air. 

"  Their  own  dear,  daring  boys  in  gray, — 
They  should  not  see  them  any  more; 
Our  cruel  drums  kept  telling  o'er 

The  time  their  own  sons  went  away. 

"  Through  burning  town,  by  bursting  shell  — 
Yea,  I  remember  well  that  night; 
I  led  through  orange- lanes  of  light, 

As  through  some  hot  outpost  of  hell! 


A  SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  117 

"  That  night  of  rainbow  shot  and  shell 
Sent  from  yon  surging  river's  breast 
To  waken  me,  no  more  to  rest, — 

That  night  I  should  remember  well! 

"  That  night,  amid  the  maimed  and  dead, — 
A  night  in  history  set  down 
By  light  of  many  a  burning  town, 

And  written  all  across  in  red, — 

"  Her  father  dead,  her  brothers  dead, 
Her  home  in  flames, —  what  else  could  she 
But  fly  all  helpless  here  to  me, 

A  fluttered  dove,  that  night  of  dread? 

"  Short  time,  hot  time  had  I  to  woo 
Amid  the  red  shells'  battle-chime; 
But  women  rarely  reckon  time, 

And  perils  waken  love  anew. 

"Aye,  then  I  wore  a  captain's  sword; 
And,  too,  had  oftentime  before 
Doffed  cap  at  her  dead  father's  door, 

And  passed  a  lover's  pleasant  word. 

"And  then  —  ah,  I  was  comely  then! 
I  bore  no  load  upon  my  back, 
I  heard  no  hounds  upon  my  track, 

But  stood  the  tallest  of  tall  men. 


118  A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   KIVER. 

"  Her  father's  and  her  mother's  shrine, 
This  church  amid  the  orange- wood; 
So  near  and  so  secure  it  stood, 

It  seemed  to  beckon  as  a  sign. 

"Its  white  cross  seemed  to  beckon  me: 
My  heart  was  strong,  and  it  was  mine 

To  throw  myself  upon  my  knee, 
To  beg  to  lead  her  to  this  shrine. 

"  She  did  consent.     Through  lanes  of  light 
I  led  through  that  church-door  that  night  — 
Let  fall  your  hand!     Take  back  your  face 
And  stand, —  stand  patient  in  your  place! 

"She  loved  me;  and  she  loves  me  still. 
Yea,  she  clung  close  to  me  that  hour 
As  honey-bee  to  honey-flower, — 

And  still  is  mine,  through  good  or  ill. 

"  The  priest  stood  there.    He  spake  the  prayer; 

He  made  the  holy,  mystic  sign. 

And  she  was  mine,  was  wholly  mine, — 
Is  mine  this  moment,  I  can  swear! 

"Then  days,  then  nights  of  vast  delight, — 
Then  came  a  doubtful  later  day; 
The  faithful  priest,  now  far  away, 

Watched  with  the  dying  in  the  fight: 


A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  119 

"  The  priest  amid  the  dying,  dead, 
Kept  duty  on  the  battle-field, — 
That  midnight  marriage  unrevealed 

Kept  strange  thoughts  running  thro'  my  head. 

"At  last  a  stray  ball  struck  the  priest: 

This  vestibule  his  chancel  was; 

And  now  none  lived  to  speak  her  cause, 
Record,  or  champion  her  the  least. 

"Hear  me!     I  had  been  bred  to  hate 
All  priests,  their  mummeries  and  all. 

Ah,  it  was  fate, —  ah,  it  was  fate 

That  all  things  tempted  to  my  fall! 

"And  then  the  dashing  songs  we  sang 
Those  nights  when  rudely  reveling, — 
Such  songs  that  only  soldiers  sing, — 

Until  the  very  tent-poles  rang! 

"  What  is  the  rhyme  that  rhymers  say, 
Of  maidens  born  to  be  betrayed 
By  epaulettes  and  shining  blade, 

While  soldiers  love  and  ride  away? 

"  And  then  my  comrades  spake  her  name 
Half  taunting,  with  a  touch  of  shame; 
Taught  me  to  hold  that  lily-flower 
As  some  light  pastime  of  the  hour. 


120  A    SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

"  And  then  the  ruin  in  the  land, 
The  death,  dismay,  the  lawlessness! 

Men  gathered  gold  on  every  hand, — 

Heaped  gold:  and  why  should  I  do  less? 

''  The  cry  for  gold  was  in  the  air, — 
For  Creole  gold,  for  precious  things; 

The  sword  kept  prodding  here  and  there 
Through  bolts  and  sacred  fastenings. 

"  '  Get  gold!  get  gold! '     This  was  the  cry. 
And  I  loved  gold.     What  else  could  I 
Or  you,  or  any  earnest  one, 
Born  in  this  getting  age,  have  done? 

u  With  this  one  lesson  taught  from  youth, 
And  ever  taught  us,  to  get  gold, — 
To  get  and  hold,  and  ever  hold, — 

What  else  could  I  have  done,  forsooth  ? 

"  She,  seeing  how  I  sought  for  gold, — 
This  girl,  my  wife,  one  late  night  told 
Of  treasures  hidden  close  at  hand, 
In  her  dead  father's  mellow  land; 

"  Of  gold  she  helped  her  brothers  hide 

Beneath  a  broad  banana-tree 
The  day  the  two  in  battle  died, 

The  night  she  dying  fled  to  me. 


A   SONG    OF   THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER.  121 

"  It  seemed  too  good;  I  laughed  to  scorn 
Her  trustful  tale.     She  answered  not; 

But  meekly  on  the  morrow  morn 
These  two  great  bags  of  bright  gold  brought. 

"  And  when  she  brought  this  gold  to  me, — 
Red  Creole  gold,  rich,  rare,  and  old, — 
When  I  at  last  had  gold,  sweet  gold, 

I  cried  in  very  ecstasy. 

"  Red  gold!  rich  gold!  two  bags  of  gold! 
The  two  stout  bags  of  gold  she  brought 
And  gave,  with  scarce  a  second  thought, — 

Why,  her  two  hands  could  scarcely  hold! 

"  Now  I  had  gold!  two  bags  of  gold! 

Two  wings  of  gold,  to  fly,  and  fly 
The  wide  world's  girth;  red  gold  to  hold 

Against  my  heart  for  aye  and  aye! 

"  My  country's  lesson:  '  Gold!  get  gold! ' 
I  learned  it  well  in  land  of  snow; 
And  what  can  glow,  so  brightly  glow, 

Long  winter  nights  of  northern  cold? 

"  Aye,  now  at  last,  at  last  I  had 

The  one  thing,  all  fair  things  above, 
My  land  had  taught  me  most  to  love! 

A  miser  now!  and  I  grew  mad. 


122  A    SONG    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER. 

"  With  these  two  bags  of  gold  my  own, 
I  then  began  to  plan  that  night 
For  flight,  for  far  and  sudden  flight, — 

For  flight;  and,  too,  for  flight  alone. 

"  I  feared!  I  feared!     My  heart  grew  cold, — 
Some  one  might  claim  this  gold  of  me! 
I  feared  her, —  I  feared  her  purity  — 

Feared  all  things  but  my  bags  of  gold. 

u  I  grew  to  hate  her  face,  her  creed, — 

That  face  the  fairest  ever  yet 
That  bowed  o'er  holy  cross  or  bead, 

Or  yet  was  in  God's  image  set. 

"  I  fled, —  nay,  not  so  knavish  low, 
As  you  have  fancied,  did  I  fly; 
I  sought  her  at  that  shrine,  and  I 

Told  her  full  frankly  I  should  go. 

"  I  stood  a  giant  in  my  power, — 
And  did  she  question  or  dispute? 
I  stood  a  savage,  selfish  brute, — 

She  bowed  her  head,  a  lily-flower. 

':  And  when  I  sudden  turned  to  go, 
And  told  her  I  should  come  no  more, 

She  bowed  her  head  so  low,  so  low, 
Her  vast  black  hair  fell  pouring  o'er. 


A    SONG    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER.  123 

"  And  that  was  all;  her  splendid  face 
Was  mantled  from  me,  and  her  night 
Of  hair  half  hid  her  from  my  sight, 

As  she  fell  moaning  in  her  place. 

"  And  there,  mid  her  dark  night  of  hair, 

She  sobbed,  low  moaning  through  her  tears, 
That  she  would  wait,  wait  all  the  years, — 

Would  wait  and  pray  in  her  despair. 

"  Nay,  did  not  murmur,  not  deny, — 
She  did  not  cross  me  one  sweet  word! 
I  turned  and  fled;  I  thought  I  heard 

A  night-bird's  piercing  low  death-cry!  " 


124  A    SONG    OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   KIVEB. 


PART   II. 

How  soft  the  moonlight  of  my  South  ! 

How  sweet  the  South  in  soft  moonlight ! 
I  want  to  Jciss  her  warm,  sweet  mouth 

As  she  lies  sleeping  here  to-night. 

How  still !  I  do  not  hear  a  mouse. 

I  see  some  bursting  buds  appear  ; 

I  hear  God  in  His  garden, —  hear 
Him  trim  some  flowers  for  his  house. 

I  hear  some  singing  stars  ;  the  mouth 
Of  my  vast  river  sings  and  sings, 
And  pipes  on  reeds  of  pleasant  things,— 

Of  splendid  promise  for  his  South : 

His  great  South-woman,  soon  to  rise 
And  tiptoe  up  and  loose  her  hair  ; 

Tiptoe,  and  take  from  all  the  skies 

God's  stars  and  glorious  moon  to  wear  ! 


A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  125 

I. 

THE  poet  shall  create  or  kill, 

Bid  heroes  live,  bid  braggarts  die. 

I  look  against  a  lurid  sky, — 

My  silent  South  lies  proudly  still. 

The  lurid  light  of  burning  lands 
Still  climbs  to  God's  house  overhead; 

Mute  women  wring  white,  withered  hands; 
Their  eyes  are  red,  their  skies  are  red. 

And  we  still  boast  our  bitter  wars! 

Still  burn  and  burn,  and  burning  die. 
But  God's  white  finger  spins  the  stars 

In  calm  dominion  of  the  sky. 

And  not  one  ray  of  light  the  less 

Comes  down  to  bid  the  grasses  spring; 
No  drop  of  dew  nor  anything 

Shall  fail  for  all  our  bitterness. 

If  man  grows  large,  is  God  the  less? 
The  moon  shall  rise  and  set  the  same, 
The  great  sun  spill  his  splendid  flame, 

And  clothe  the  world  in  queenliness. 

Yet  from  that  very  blood- soaked  sod 

Some  large-souled,  seeing  youth  shall  come 
Some  day,  and  he  shall  not  be  dumb 

Before  the  awful  court  of  God. 


126  A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS    RIVER. 

II. 

The  weary  moon  had  turned  away, 
The  far  North  Star  was  turning  pale 
To  hear  the  stranger's  boastful  tale 

Of  blood  and  flame  that  battle-day. 

And  yet  again  the  two  men  glared, 
Close  face  to  face  above  that  tomb; 
Each  seemed  as  jealous  of  the  room 

The  other,  eager  waiting,  shared. 

Again  the  man  began  to  say, — 
As  taking  up  some  broken  thread, 
As  talking  to  the  patient  dead, — 

The  Creole  was  as  still  as  they: 

"  That  night  we  burned  yon  grass-grown  town,- 
The  grasses,  vines  are  reaching  up; 

The  ruins  they  are  reaching  down, 

As  sun-browned  soldiers  when  they  sup. 

"  I  knew  her, —  knew  her  constancy. 
She  said  this  night  of  every  year 
She  here  would  come,  and  kneeling  here, 

Would  pray  the  livelong  night  for  me. 

"  This  praying  seems  a  splendid  thing! 

It  drives  old  Time  the  other  way; 
It  makes  him  lose  all  reckoning 

Of  years  that  I  have  had  to  pay. 


A    SONG    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    KIVER.  127 

"  This  praying  seems  a  splendid  thing! 

It  makes  me  stronger  as  she  prays  — 

But  oh,  those  bitter,  bitter  days, 
When  I  became  a  banished  thing! 

"  I  fled,  took  ship, —  I  fled  as  far 
As  far  ships  drive  tow'rd  the  North  Star: 
For  I  did  hate  the  South,  the  sun 
That  made  me  think  what  I  had  done. 

"  I  could  not  see  a  fair  palm-tree 
In  foreign  land,  in  pleasant  place, 
But  it  would  whisper  of  her  face 

And  shake  its  keen,  sharp  blades  at  me 

"  Each  black-eyed  woman  would  recall 
A  lone  church-door,  a  face,  a  name, 
A  coward's  flight,  a  soldier's  shame: 

I  fled  from  woman's  face,  from  all. 

"  I  hugged  my  gold,  my  precious  gold, 
Within  my  strong,  stout  buckskin  vest. 
I  wore  my  bags  against  my  breast 

So  close  I  felt  my  heart  grow  cold. 

"  I  did  not  like  to  see  it  now; 

I  did  not  spend  one  single  piece; 

I  traveled,  traveled  without  cease 
As  far  as  Russian  ship  could  plow. 


128  A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

"And  when  my  own  scant  hoard  was  gone, 
And  I  had  reached  the  far  North-land, 
I  took  my  two  stout  bags  in  hand 

As  one  pursued,  and  journeyed  on. 

"Ah,  I  was  weary!    I  grew  gray; 
I  felt  the  fast  years  slip  and  reel, 
As  slip  bright  beads  when  maidens  kneel 

At  altars  when  outdoor  is  gay. 

"At  last  I  fell  prone  in  the  road, — 
Fell  fainting  with  my  cursed  load. 
A  skin-clad  Cossack  helped  me  bear 
My  bags,  nor  would  one  shilling  share. 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  proud  disdain, — 
He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  knew; 
His  black  eyes  burned  me  thro'  and  thro'; 

His  scorn  pierced  like  a  deadly  pain. 

"  He  frightened  me  with  honesty; 
He  made  me  feel  so  small,  so  base, 
I  fled,  as  if  a  fiend  kept  chase, — 

A  fiend  that  claimed  my  company! 

"  I  bore  my  load  alone;  I  crept 

Far  up  the  steep  and  icy  way; 

And  there,  before  a  cross  there  lay 
A  barefoot  priest,  who  bowed  and  wept. 


A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  129 

i 

•''  I  threw  my  gold  right  down  and  sped 
Straight  on.    And  oh,  my  heart  was  light! 
A  springtime  bird  in  springtime  flight 

Flies  scarce  more  happy  than  I  fled. 

"  I  felt  somehow  this  monk  would  take 
My  gold,  my  load  from  off  my  back; 
Would  turn  the  fiend  from  off  my  track, 

Would  take  my  gold  for  sweet  Christ's  sake! 

"  I  fled;  I  did  not  look  behind; 
I  fled,  fled  with  the  mountain  wind. 
At  last,  far  down  the  mountain's  base 
I  found  a  pleasant  resting-place. 

"  I  rested  there  so  long,  so  well, 
More  grateful  than  all  tongues  can  tell 
It  was  such  pleasant  thing  to  hear 
That  valley's  voices  calm  and  clear. 

"  That  valley  veiled  in  mountain  air, 
With  white  goats  on  the  hills  at  morn; 
That  valley  green  with  seas  of  corn, 

With  cottage-islands  here  and  there. 

"  I  watched  the  mountain  girls.     The  hay 
They  mowed  was  not  more  sweet  than  they; 
They  laid  brown  hands  in  my  white  hair; 
They  marveled  at  my  face  of  care. 


130  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

"  I  tried  to  laugh;  I  could  but  weep. 
I  made  these  peasants  one  request, — 
That  I  with  them  might  toil  or  rest, 

And  with  them  sleep  the  long,  last  sleep. 

"  I  begged  that  I  might  battle  there, 
In  that  fair  valley-land,  for  those 
Who  gave  me  cheer,  when  girt  with  foes, 

And  have  a  country  loved  as  fair. 

"  Where  is  that  spot  that  poets  name 
Our  country?  name  the  hallowed  land? 
Where  is  that  spot  where  man  must  stand 

Or  fall  when  girt  with  sword  and  flame? 

"  Where  is  that  one  permitted  spot? 

Where  is  the  one  place  man  must  fight? 

Where  rests  the  one  God-given  right 
To  fight,  as  ever  patriots  fought? 

''  I  say  't  is  in  that  holy  house 

Where  God  first  set  us  down  on  earth; 
Where  mother  welcomed  us  at  birth, 

And  bared  her  breasts,  a  happy  spouse. 

"  The  simple  ploughboy  from  his  field 
Looks  forth.     He  sees  God's  purple  wall 
Encircling  him.     High  over  all 

The  vast  sun  wheels  his  shining  shield. 


A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS    RIVER.  131 

"  This  King,  who  makes  earth  what  it  is,— 
King  David  bending  to  his  toil! 

0  lord  and  master  of  the  soil, 
How  envied  in  thy  loyal  bliss! 

"  Long  live  the  land  we  loved  in  youth. — 
That  world  with  blue  skies  bent  about, 
Where  never  entered  ugly  doubt! 

Long  live  the  simple,  homely  truth! 

"  Can  true  hearts  love  some  far  snow-land, 
Some  bleak  Alaska  bought  with  gold? 
God's  laws  are  old  as  love  is  old; 

And  Home  is  something  near  at  hand. 

"  Yea,  change  yon  river's  course;  estrange 
The  seven  sweet  stars;  make  hate  divide 
The  full  moon  from  the  flowing  tide, — 

But  this  old  truth  ye  cannot  change. 

"  I  begged  a  land  as  begging  bread; 

1  begged  of  these  brave  mountaineers 
To  share  their  sorrows,  share  their  tears; 

To  weep  as  they  wept  with  their  dead. 

"They  did  consent.  The  mountain  town 
Was  mine  to  love,  and  valley  lands. 

That  night  the  barefoot  monk  came  down 
And  laid  my  two  bags  in  my  hands! 


132  A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

"On!  on!     And  oh,  the  load  I  bore! 

Why,  once  I  dreamed  my  soul  was  lead; 

Dreamed  once  it  was  a  body  dead ! 
It  made  my  cold,  hard  bosom  sore. 

"  I  dragged  that  body  forth  and  back  — 

0  conscience,  what  a  baying  hound! 
Nor  frozen  seas  nor  frosted  ground 

Can  throw  this  bloodhound  from  his  track. 

"  In  farthest  Russia  I  lay  down, 
A  dying  man,  at  last  to  rest; 

1  felt  such  load  upon  my  breast 
As  seamen  feel,  who,  sinking,  drown. 

"  That  night,  all  chill  and  desperate, 
I  sprang  up,  for  I  could  not  rest; 
I  tore  the  two  bags  from  my  breast, 

And  dashed  them  in  the  burning  grate. 

"  I  then  crept  back  into  my  bed; 

I  tried,  I  begged,  I  prayed  to  sleep; 

But  those  red,  restless  coins  would  keep 
Slow  dropping,  dropping,  and  blood-red. 

"  I  heard  them  clink,  and  clink,  and  clink, — 
They  turned,  they  talked  within  that  grate. 

They  talked  of  her;  they  made  me  think 
Of  one  who  still  did  pray  and  wait. 


A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  133 

u  And  when  the  bags  burned  crisp  and  black, 
Two  coins  did  start,  roll  to  the  floor, — 

Roll  out,  roll  on,  and  then  roll  back, 
As  if  they  needs  must  journey  more. 

"  Ah,  then  I  knew  nor  change  nor  space, 
Nor  all  the  drowning  years  that  rolled 

Could  hide  from  me  her  haunting  face, 
Nor  still  that  red-tongued,  talking  gold! 

"  Again  I  sprang  forth  from  my  bed! 

I  shook  as  in  an  ague  fit; 
I  clutched  that  red  gold,  burning  red, 

I  clutched  as  if  to  strangle  it. 

I  clutched  it  up  —  you  hear  me,  boy?  — 
I  clutched  it  up  with  joyful  tears! 

I  clutched  it  close,  with  such  wild  joy 
I  had  not  felt  for  years  and  years! 

"  Such  joy!  for  I  should  now  retrace 
My  steps,  should  see  my  land,  her  face; 
Bring  back  her  gold  this  battle  day, 
And  see  her,  hear  her,  hear  her  pray! 

"  I  brought  it  back  —  you  hear  me,  boy? — 

I  clutch  it,  hold  it,  hold  it  now: 
Red  gold,  bright  gold  that  giveth  joy 

To  all,  and  anywhere  or  how; 


134  A    SONG    OF    THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER. 

"  That  giveth  joy  to  all  but  me, — 

To  all  but  me,  yet  soon  to  all. 
It  burns  my  hands,  it  burns!  but  she 

Shall  ope  my  hands  and  let  it  fall. 

"  For  oh,  I  have  a  willing  hand 
To  give  these  bags  of  gold;  to  see 
Her  smile  as  once  she  smiled  on  me 

Here  in  this  pleasant  warm  palm-land." 

He  ceased,  he  thrust  each  hard-clenched  fist,- 
He  threw  his  gold  hard  forth  again, 
As  one  impelled  by  some  mad  pain 

He  would  not  or  could  not  resist. 

The  Creole,  scorning,  turned  away, 

As  if  he  turned  from  that  lost  thief, — 
The  one  who  died  without  belief 

That  awful  crucifixion  day. 

III. 

Believe  in  man,  nor  turn  away. 

Lo!  man  advances  year  by  year; 

Time  bears  him  upward,  and  his  sphere 
Of  life  must  broaden  day  by  day. 

Believe  in  man  with  large  belief; 

The  garnered  grain  each  harvest-time 
Hath  promise,  roundness,  and  full  prime 

For  all  the  empty  chaff  and  sheaf. 


A    SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  135 

Believe  in  man  with  brave  belief: 
Truth  keeps  the  bottom  of  her  well; 

And  when  the  thief  peeps  down,  the  thief 
Peeps  back  at  him  perpetual. 

Faint  not  that  this  or  that  man  fell; 

For  one  that  falls  a  thousand  rise 
To  lift  white  Progress  to  the  skies: 

Truth  keeps  the  bottom  of  her  well. 

Fear  not  for  man,  nor  cease  to  delve 
For  cool,  sweet  truth,  with  large  belief. 

Lo!  Christ  himself  chose  only  twelve, 
Yet  one  of  these  turned  out  a  thief. 

IV. 

Down  through  the  dark  magnolia  leaves, 
Where  climbs  the  rose  of  Cherokee 
Against  the  orange-blossomed  tree, 

A  loom  of  morn-light  weaves  and  weaves, — 

A  loom  of  morn-light,  weaving  clothes 
From  snow-white  rose  of  Cherokee, 
And  bridal  blooms  of  orange-tree, 

For  fairy  folk  in  fragrant  rose. 

Down  through  the  mournful  myrtle  crape, 
Thro'  moving  moss,  thro'  ghostly  gloom, 

A  long,  white  morn-beam  takes  a  shape 
Above  a  nameless,  lowly  tomb; 


136  A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

A  long  white  finger  through  the  gloom 
Of  grasses  gathered  round  about, — 
As  God's  white  finger  pointing  out 

A  name  upon  that  nameless  tomb. 

V. 

Her  white  face  bowed  in  her  black  hair, 
The  maiden  prays  so  still  within 
That  you  might  hear  a  falling  pin, — 

Aye,  hear  her  white,  unuttered  prayer. 

The  moon  has  grown  disconsolate, 

Has  turned  her  down  her  walk  of  stars: 
Why,  she  is  shutting  up  her  bars, 

As  maidens  shut  a  lover's  gate. 

The  moon  has  grown  disconsolate; 
She  will  no  longer  watch  and  wait. 
But  two  men  wait;  and  two  men  will 
Wait  on  till  full  morn,  mute  and  still: 

Still  wait  and  walk  among  the  trees, 
Quite  careless  if  the  moon  may  keep 
Her  walk  along  her  starry  steep 

Or  drown  her  in  the  Southern  seas. 

They  know  no  moon,  or  set  or  rise 

Of  sun,  or  anything  to  light 
The  earth  or  skies,  save  her  dark  eyes, 

This  praying,  waking,  watching  night. 


A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  137 

They  move  among  the  tombs  apart, 
Their  eyes  turn  ever  to  that  door; 

They  know  the  worn  walks  there  by  heart  — 
They  turn  and  walk  them  o'er  and  o'er. 

They  are  not  wide,  these  little  walks 
For  dead  folk  by  this  crescent  town; 
They  lie  right  close  when  they  lie  down, 

As  if  they  kept  up  quiet  talks. 

VI. 

The  two  men  keep  their  paths  apart; 
But  more  and  more  begins  to  stoop 
The  man  with  gold,  as  droop  and  droop 

Tall  plants  with  something  at  their  heart. 

Now  once  again,  with  eager  zest, 
He  offers  gold  with  silent  speech; 
The  other  will  not  walk  in  reach, 

But  walks  around,  as  round  a  pest. 

His  dark  eyes  sweep  the  scene  around, 
His  young  face  drinks  the  fragrant  air, 
His  dark  eyes  journey  everywhere, — 

The  other's  cleave  unto  the  ground. 

It  is  a  weary  walk  for  him, 

For  oh,  he  bears  such  weary  load ! 
He  does  not  like  that  narrow  road 

Between  the  dead  —  it  is  so  dim: 


138  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER. 

It  is  so  dark,  that  narrow  place, 

Where  graves  lie  thick,  like  yellow  leaves: 
Give  us  the  light  of  Christ  and  grace; 

Give  light  to  garner  in  the  sheaves. 

Give  light  of  love;  for  gold  is  cold, — 

Aye,  gold  is  cruel  as  a  crime; 

It  gives  no  light  at  such  sad  time 
As  when  man's  feet  wax  weak  and  old. 

Aye,  gold  is  heavy,  hard,  and  cold! 

And  have  I  said  this  thing  before? 

Well,  I  will  say  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
'T  were  need  be  said  ten  thousand  fold. 

"  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread," — 
Get  this  of  God;  then  all  the  rest 
Is  housed  in  thine  own  earnest  breast, 

If  you  but  lift  an  honest  head. 

VII. 

Oh,  I  have  seen  men,  tall  and  fair, 

Stoop  down  their  manhood  with  disgust, — 
Stoop  down  God's  image  to  the  dust, 

To  get  a  load  of  gold  to  bear; 

Have  seen  men  selling  day  by  day 

The  glance  of  manhood  that  God  gave: 
To  sell  God's  image,  as  a  slave 

Might  sell  some  little  pot  of  claylr.   ^. 


A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  139 

Behold!  here  in  this  green  graveyard 

A  man  with  gold  enough  to  fill 

A  coffin,  as  a  miller's  till; 
And  yet  his  path  is  hard,  so  hard! 

His  feet  keep  sinking  in  the  sand, 
And  now  so  near  an  Opened  grave! 
He  seems  to  hear  the  solemn  wave 

Of  dread  oblivion  at  hand. 

The  sands,  they  grumble  so,  it  seems 
As  if  he  walks  some-  shelving  brink; 
He  tries  to  stop,  he  tries  to  think, 

He  tries  to  make  believe  he  dreams: 

Why,  he  was  free  to  leave  the  land, — 
The  silver  moon  was  white  as  dawn; 
Why,  he  has  gold  in  either  hand, 

Had  silver  ways  to  walk  upon. 

And  who  should  chide,  or  bid  him  stay? 

Or  taunt,  or  threat,  or  bid  him  fly? 
"  The  world  's  for  sale,"  I  hear  men  say, 

And  yet  this  man  had  gold  to  buy. 

Buy  what?  Buy  rest?  He  could  not  rest! 
Buy  gentle  sleep?  He  could  not  sleep, 
Though  all  these  graves  were  wide  and  deep 

As  their  wide  mouths  with  the  request. 


140  A    SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

Buy  Love,  buy  faith,  buy  snow-white  truth? 

Buy  moonlight,  sunlight,  present,  past? 
Buy  but  one  brimful  cup  of  youth 

That  true  souls  drink  of  to  the  last? 

O  God!  't  was  pitiful  to  see 

This  miser  so  forlorn  and  old ! 
O  God!  how  poor  a  man  may  be 

With  nothing  in  this  world  but  gold! 


VIII. 

The  broad  magnolia's  blooms  were  white; 

Her  blooms  were  large,  as  if  the  moon 
Quite  lost  her  way  that  dreamful  night, 

And  lodged  to  wait  the  afternoon. 

Oh,  vast  white  blossoms,  breathing  love! 
White  bosom  of  my  lady  dead, 
In   your  white  heaven  overhead 

I  look,  and  learn  to  look  above. 


The  dew- wet  roses  wept;  their  eyes 

All  dew,  their  breath  as  sweet  as  prayer. 
And  as  they  wept,  the  dead  down  there 

Did  feel  their  tears  and  hear  their  sighs. 


A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS    RIVER.  141 

The  grass  uprose,  as  if  afraid 

Some  stranger  foot  might  press  too  near; 

Its  every  blade  was  like  a  spear, 
Its  every  spear  a  living  blade. 

The  grass  above  that  nameless  tomb 

Stood  all  arrayed,  as  if  afraid 
Some  weary  pilgrim,  seeking  room 

And  rest,  might  lay  where  she  was  laid. 

X. 

'T  was  morn,  and  yet  it  was  not  morn; 

'T  was  morn  in  heaven,  not  on  earth: 

A  star  was  singing  of  a  birth, — 
Just  saying  that  a  day  was  born. 

The  marsh  hard  by  that  bound  the  lake, — 
The  great  stork  sea-lake,  Ponchartrain, 
Shut  off  from  sultry  Cuban  main, — 

Drew  up  its  legs,  as  half-awake: 

Drew  long,  thin  legs,  stork-legs  that  steep 
In  slime  where  alligators  creep, — 
Drew  long  green  legs  that  stir  the  grass, 
As  when  the  late  lorn  night  winds  pass. 

Then  from  the  marsh  came  croakings  low; 

Then  louder  croaked  some  sea-marsh  beast; 

Then,  far  away  against  the  east, 
God's  rose  of  morn  began  to  grow. 


142  A   SONG   OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

From  out  the  marsh  against  that  east, 
A  ghostly  moss-swept  cypress  stood; 
With  ragged  arms,  above  the  wood 

It  rose,  a  God-forsaken  beast. 

It  seemed  so  frightened  where  it  rose! 
The  moss -hung  thing,  it  seemed  to  wave 
The  worn-out  garments  of  a  grave, — 

To  wave  and  wave  its  old  grave-clothes. 

Close,  by,  a  cow  rose  up  and  lowed 

From  out  a  palm-thatched  milking-shed; 

A  black  boy  on  the  river  road 

Fled  sudden,  as  the  night  had  fled: 

A  nude  black  boy, —  a  bit  of  night 
That  had  been  broken  off  and  lost 
From  flying  night,  the  time  it  crossed 

The  soundless  river  in  its  flight; 

A  bit  of  darkness,  following 
The  sable  night  on  sable  wing, — 
A  bit  of  darkness,  dumb  with  fear, 
Because  that  nameless  tomb  was  near. 

Then  holy  bells  came  pealing  out; 

Then  steamboats  blew,  then  horses  neighed ; 
Then  smoke  from  hamlets  round  about 

Crept  out,  as  if  no  more  afraid. 


A  £ONG  OF  THE  SOUNDLESS  RIVER.     143 

Then  shrill  cocks  here,  and  shrill  cocks  there, 
Stretched  glossy  necks  and  filled  the  air; — 
How  many  cocks  it  takes  to  make 
A  country  morning  well  awake! 

Then  many  boughs,  with  many  birds, — 
Young  boughs  in  green,  old  boughs  in  gray: 
These  birds  had  very  much  to  say, 

In  their  soft,  sweet,  familiar  words. 

And  all  seemed  sudden  glad;  the  gloom 
Forgot  the  church,  forgot  the  tomb; 
And  yet,  like  monks  with  cross  and  bead, 
The  myrtles  leaned  to  read  and  read. 

And  oh,  the  fragrance  of  the  sod! 

And  oh,  the  perfume  of  the  air! 

The  sweetness,  sweetness  everywhere, 
That  rose  like  incense  up  to  God! 


I  like  a  cow's  breath  in  sweet  spring; 

I  like  the  breath  of  babes  new-born; 
A  maid's  breath  is  a  plesant  thing, — 

But  oh,  the  breath  of  sudden  morn!  — 

Of  sudden  morn,  when  every  pore 
Of  Mother  Earth  is  pulsing  fast 

With  life,  and  life  seems  spilling  o'er 
With  love,  with  love  too  sweet  to  last: 


144  A   SONG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

Of  sudden  morn  beneath  the  sun, 

By  God's  great  river  wrapped  in  gray, 

That  for  a  space  forgets  to  run, 
And  hides  his  face,  as  if  to  pray. 

XI. 

The  black-eyed  Creole  kept  his  eyes 
Turned  to  the  door,  as  eyes  might  turn 
To  see  the  holy  embers  burn 

Some  sin  away  at  sacrifice. 

Full  dawn!  but  yet  he  knew  no  dawn, 
Nor  song  of  bird,  nor  bird  on  wing, 
Nor  breath  of  rose,  nor  anything 

Her  fair  face  lifted  not  upon. 

And  yet  he  taller  stood  with  morn; 
His  bright  eyes,  brighter  than  before, 
Burned  fast  against  that  fastened  door, 

His  proud  lips  lifting  still  with  scorn, — 

With  lofty,  silent  scorn  for  one 

Who  all  night  long  had  plead  and  plead, 
With  none  to  witness  but  the  dead 

How  he  for  gold  must  be  undone. 

O  ye  who  feed  a  greed  for  gold, 

And  barter  truth,  and  trade  sweet  youth 
For  cold,  hard  gold,  behold,  behold! 

Behold  this  man!  behold  this  truth! 


A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  145 

Why,  what  is  there  in  all  God's  plan 

Of  vast  creation,  high  or  low, 

By  sea  or  land,  by  sun  or  snow, 
So  mean,  so  miserly  as  man? 


Lo,  earth  and  heaven  all  let  go 

Their  garnered  riches,  year  by  year! 

The  treasures  of  the  trackless  snow, 
Ah,  hast  thou  seen  how  very  dear? 

The  wide  earth  gives,  gives  golden  grain, 
Gives  fruits  of  gold,  gives  all,  gives  all! 
Hold  forth  your  hand,  and  these  shall  fall 

In  your  full  palm  as  free  as  rain. 

Yea,  earth  is  generous.     The  trees 
Strip  nude  as  birth-time  without  fear; 
And  their  reward  is  year  by  year 

To  feel  their  fullness  but  increase. 

The  law  of  Nature  is  to  give, 
To  give,  to  give!  and  to  rejoice 
In  giving  with  a  generous  voice, 

And  so  trust  God  and  truly  live. 


146  A    SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

But  see  this  miser  at  the  last, — 

This  man  who  loved,  who  worshiped  gold, 
Who  grasped  gold  with  such  eager  hold, 

He  fain  must  hold  forever  fast: 

As  if  to  hold  what  God  lets  go; 
As  if  to  hold,  while  all  around 
Lets  go  and  drops  upon  the  ground 

All  things  as  generous  as  snow. 

Let  go  your  hold!  let  go  or  die! 
Let  go,  poor  soul!     Do  not  refuse 
Till  death  comes  by  and  shakes  you  loose, 

And  sends  you  shamed  to  hell  for  aye! 

What  if  the  sun  should  keep  his  gold? 

The  rich  moon  lock  her  silver  up? 

What  if  the  gold-clad  buttercup 
Became  such  miser,  mean  and  old? 

Ah,  me!  the  coffins  are  so  true 

In  all  accounts,  the  shrouds  so  thin, 

That  down  there  you  might  sew  and  sew, 
Nor  ever  sew  one  pocket  in. 

And  all  that  you  can  hold  of  lands 

Down  there,  below  the  grass,  down  there, 
Will  only  be  that  little  share 

You  hold  in  your  two  dust-full  hands. 


A   SONG    OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  147 

XII. 

She  comes!  she  comes!     The  stony  floor 
Speaks  out!     And  now  the  rusty  door 
At  last  has  just  one  word  this  day, 
With  mute,  religious  lips,  to  say. 

She  comes!  she  comes!     And  lo,  her  face 
Is  upward,  radiant,  fair  as  prayer! 

So  pure  here  in  this  holy  place, 
Where  holy  peace  is  everywhere. 

Her  upraised  face,  her  face  of  light 

And  loveliness,  from  duty  done, 

Is  like  a  rising  orient  sun 
That  pushes  back  the  brow  of  night. 


How  brave,  how  beautiful  is  truth! 

Good  deeds  untold  are  like  to  this. 

But  fairest  of  all  fair  things  is 
A  pious  maiden  in  her  youth: 

A  pious  maiden  as  she  stands 
Just  on  the  threshold  of  the  years 
That  throb  and  pulse  with  hopes  and  fears, 

And  reaches  God  her  helpless  hands. 


148  A   SONG   OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

How  fair  is  she!     How  fond  is  she! 

Her  foot  upon  the  threshold  there. 
Her  breath  is  as  a  blossomed  tree, — 

This  maiden  mantled  in  her  hair! 

Her  hair,  her  black,  abundant  hair, 
Where  night  inhabited,  all  night 
And  all  this  day,  will  not  take  flight, 

But  finds  content  and  houses  there. 

Her  hands  are  clasped,  her  two  small  hands: 
They  hold  the  holy  book  of  prayer 
Just  as  she  steps  the  threshold  there, 

Clasped  downward  where  she  silent  stands. 

XIII. 

Once  more  she  lifts  her  lowly  face, 
And  slowly  lifts  her  large,  dark  eyes 
Of  wonder,  and  in  still  surprise 

She  looks  full  forward  in  her  place. 

She  looks  full  forward  on  the  air 
Above  the  tomb,  and  yet  below 
The  fruits  of  gold,  the  blooms  of  snow, 

As  looking  —  looking  anywhere. 

She  feels  —  she  knows  not  what  she  feels; 

It  is  not  terror,  is  not  fear. 
But  there  is  something  that  reveals 

A  presence  that  is  near  and  dear. 


A    SONG   OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  149 

She  does  not  let  her  eyes  fall  down, 
They  lift  against  the  far  profound: 

Against  the  blue  above  the  town 

Two  wide-winged  vultures  circle  round. 

Two  brown  birds  swim  above  the  sea, — 
Her  large  eyes  swim  as  dreamily, 
And  follow  far,  and  follow  high, 
Two  circling  black  specks  in  the  sky. 

One  forward  step, —  the  closing  door 
Creaks  out,  as  frightened  or  in  pain; 
Her  eyes  are  on  the  ground  again  — 

Two  men  are  standing  close  before. 

"  My  love,"  sighs  one,  "  my  life,  my  all!  " 

Her  lifted  foot  across  the  sill 

Sinks  down, —  and  all  things  are  so  still 
You  hear  the  orange-blossoms  fall. 

But  fear  comes  not  where  duty  is, 

And  purity  is  peace  and  rest; 

Her  cross  is  close  upon  her  breast, 
Her  two  hands  clasp  hard  hold  of  this. 

Her  two  hands  clasp  cross,  book,  and  she 

Is  strong  in  tranquil  purity, — 

Aye,  strong  as  Samson  when  he  laid 

His  two  hands  forth  and  bowed  and  prayed. 


150          A   SOMG   OF   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER. 

One  at  her  left,  one  at  her  right, 
And  she  between,  the  steps  upon,— 

I  can  but  see  that  Syrian  night, 
The  women  there  at  early  dawn. 

XIV. 

The  sky  is  like  an  opal  sea, 

The  air  is  like  the  breath  of  kine; 

But  oh,  her  face  is  white,  and  she 
Leans  faint  to  see  a  lifted  sign, — 

To  see  two  hands  lift  up  and  wave, — 
To  see  a  face  so  white  with  woe, 
So  ghastly,  hollow,  white  as  though 

It  had  that  moment  left  the  grave. 

Her  sweet  face  at  that  ghostly  sign, 
Her  fair  face  in  her  weight  of  hair, 
Is  like  a  white  dove  drowning  there, — 

A  white  dove  drowned  in  Tuscan  wine. 

He  tries  to  stand,  to  stand  erect; 

'T  is  gold,  't  is  gold  that  holds  him  down! 

And  soul  and  body  both  must  drown, — 
Two  millstones  tied  about  his  neck. 

Now  once  again  his  piteous  face 
Is  raised  to  her  face  reaching  there. 
He  prays  such  piteous  silent  prayer, 

As  prays  a  dying  man  for  grace. 


A   SONG   OP   THE   SOUNDLESS   RIVER.  151 

It  is  not  good  to  see  him  strain 
To  lift  his  hands,  to  gasp,  to  try 
To  speak.    His  parched  lips  are  so  dry 

Their  sight  is  as  a  living  pain. 

I  think  that  rich  man  down  in  hell 

Some  like  this  old  man  with  his  gold, — 

To  gasp  and  gasp  perpetual, 
Like  to  this  minute  I  have  told. 

XV. 

At  last  the  miser  cries  his  pain, — 

A  shrill,  wild  cry,  as  if  a  grave 

Just  op'd  its  stony  lips  and  gave 
One  sentence  forth,  then  closed  again. 

"  'T  was  twenty  years  last  night,  last  night!  " 
His  lips  still  moved,  but  not  to  speak; 

His  outstretched  hands,  so  trembling  weak, 
Were  beggar's  hands  in  sorry  plight. 

His  face  upturned  to  hers;  his  lips 
Kept  talking  on,  but  gave  no  sound; 
His  feet  were  cloven  to  the  ground; 

Like  iron  hooks  his  finger  tips. 

"  Aye,  twenty  years,"  she  sadly  sighed: 
"  I  promised  mother  every  year, 
That  I  would  pray  for  father  here, 

As  she  had  prayed,  the  night  she  died. 


152  A    SONG    OF   THE    SOUNDLESS   RIVEK. 

"  To  pray  as  she  prayed,  fervently, 
As  she  had  promised  she  would  pray 
The  sad  night  that  he  turned  away, 

For  him,  wherever  he  might  be." 

Then  she  was  still;  then  sudden  she 
Let  fall  her  eyes,  and  so  outspake, 
As  if  her  very  heart  would  break, 

Her  proud  lips  trembling  piteously: 

"  And  whether  he  comes  soon  or  late 
To  kneel  beside  this  nameless  grave, 

May  God  forgive  my  father's  hate 
As  I  forgive,  as  she  forgave!  " 

He  saw  the  stone;  he  understood, 

With  that  quick  knowledge  that  will  come 
Most  quick  when  men  are  made  most  dumb 

With  terror  that  stops  still  the  blood. 

And  then  a  blindness  slowly  fell 
On  soul  and  body;  but  his  hands 
Held  tight  his  bags,  two  iron  bands, 

As  if  to  bear  them  into  hell. 

He  sank  upon  the  nameless  stone 
With  oh!  such  sad,  such  piteous  moan 
As  never  man  might  seek  to  know 
From  man's  most  unforgiving  foe. 


A    SONG   OF    THE    SOUNDLESS   EIVER.  153 

He  sighed  at  last,  so  long,  so  deep, 
As  one's  heart  breaking  in  one's  sleep, — 
One  long,  last,  weary,  willing  sigh, 
As  if  it  were  a  grace  to  die. 

And  then  his  hands,  like  loosened  bands, 
Hung  down,  hung  down,  on  either  side; 
His  hands  hung  down,  hung  open  wide: 

Wide,  empty,  hung  the  dead  man's  hands. 


COLUMBUS. 


BEHIND  him  lay  the  gray  Azores, 

Behind  the  Gates  of  Hercules; 
Before  him  not  the  ghost  of  shores, 

Before  him  only  shoreless  seas. 
The  good  mate  said:  "  Now  must  we  pray, 

For  lo!  the  very  stars  are  gone. 
Brave  Adm'r'l,  speak;  what  shall  I  say?" 

"  Why,  say:  'Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on! ' ' 

"  My  men  grow  mutinous  day  by  day; 

My  men  grow  ghastly  wan  and  weak." 
The  stout  mate  thought  of  home;  a  spray 

Of  salt  wave  washed  his  swarthy  cheek. 
"  What  shall  I  say,  brave  Adm'r'l,  say, 

If  we  sight  naught  but  seas  at  dawn?" 
"  Why,  you  shall  say  at  break  of  day: 

'  Sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!  " 

They  sailed  and  sailed,  as  winds  might  blow, 
Until  at  last  the  blanched  mate  said: 

"  Why,  now  not  even  God  would  know 
Should  I  and  all  my  men  fall  dead. 

154 


COLUMBUS.  155 


These  very  winds  forget  their  way, 
For  God  from  these  dread  seas  is  gone. 

Now  speak,  brave  AdmYl;  speak  and  say 
He  said:  "Sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!" 


They  sailed.    They  sailed.    Then  spake  the  mate: 

"  This  mad  sea  shows  its  teeth  to-night. 
He  curls  his  lip,  he  lies  in  wait, 

With  lifted  teeth,  as  if  to  bite! 
Brave  Adm'r'l,  say  but  one  good  word; 

What  shall  we  do  when  hope  is  gone?" 
The  words  leapt  as  a  leaping  sword: 

"  Sail  on!  sail  on!  sail  on!  and  on!  " 

Then,  pale  and  worn,  he  kept  his  deck, 

And  peered  through  darkness.     Ah,  that  night 
Of  all  dark  nights!     And  then  a  speck  — 

A  light!    A  light!     A  light!     A  light! 
It  grew,  a  starlit  flag  unfurled! 

It  grew  to  be  Time's  burst  of  dawn. 
He  gained  a  world;  he  gave  that  world 

Its  grandest  lesson:  "On!  sail  on!" 


MOTHER  EGYPT. 


DARK-BROWED,  she  broods  with  weary  lids 

Beside  her  Sphynx  and  Pyramids, 

With  low  and  never-lifted  head. 

If  she  be  dead,  respect  the  dead: 

If  she  be  weeping,  let  her  weep; 

If  she  be  sleeping,  let  her  sleep; 

For  lo,  this  woman  named  the  stars! 

She  suckled  at  her  tawny  dugs 
Your  Moses  while  you  reeked  in  wars 

And  prowled  your  woods,  nude,  painted  thugs. 

Then  back,  brave  England;  back  in  peace 

To  Christian  isles  of  fat  increase! 

Go  back!     Else  bid  your  high  priests  take 

Their  great  bronze  Christs  and  cannon  make; 

Take  down  their  cross  from  proud  St.  Paul's 

And  coin  it  into  cannon-balls! 

You  tent  not  far  from  Nazareth. 

Your  camp   spreads   where    his   child -feet 

strayed. 
If  Christ  had  seen  this  work  of  death! 

If  Christ  had  seen  these  ships  invade! 
156 


MOTHER     EGYPT.  157 

I  think  the  patient  Christ  had  said, 

"Go  back,  brave  men!     Take  up  your  dead; 

Draw  down  your  great  ships  to  the  seas: 

Repass  the  gates  of  Hercules. 

Go  back  to  wife  with  babe  at  breast, 

And  leave  lorn  Egypt  to  her  rest." 

Is  Christ  then  dead  as  Egypt  is? 

Ah,  Mother  Egypt,  torn  to  twain! 
There  's  something  grimly  wrong  in  this- 

So  like  some  gray,  sad  woman  slain. 

What  would  you  have  your  mother  do? 
Hath  she  not  done  enough  for  you? 
Go  back !     And  when  you  learn  to  read, 
Come  read  this  obelisk.     Her  deed 
Like  yonder  awful  forehead  is. 
Disdainful  silence.     Like  to  this 
What  lessons  have  you  raised  in  stone 

To  passing  nations  that  shall  stand? 
Like  years  to  hers  will  leave  you  lone 

And  level  as  yon  yellow  sand. 

Saint  George,  your  lions,  whence  are  they? 

From  awful,  silent  Africa, 

This  Egypt  is  the  lion's  lair; 

Beware,  young  Albion,  beware! 

I  know  the  very  Nile  shall  rise 

To  drive  you  from  this  sacrifice. 

And  if  the  seven  plagues  should  come, 

The  red  seas  swallow  sword  and  steed. 
Lo!  Christian  lands  stand  mute  and  dumb 

To  see  thy  more  than  Moslem  deed. 


JAVA,    1883. 


"And  darkness  was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep; 
and  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  waters." 

THE  oceans  roar;  the  mountains  reel; 

The  world  stands  still,  with  bated  breath. 
Then  burst  of  flame!  and  woe  and  weal 

Lie  drowned  in  darkness  and  in  death. 
Wild  beasts  in  herds,  strange,  beauteous  birds- 

God's  rainbow  birds,—  gone  in  a  breath! 

0  God!  is  earth,  then,  incomplete  — 
The  six  days'  labor  still  undone  — 

That  she  must  melt  beneath  Thy  feet 
And  her  fair  face  forget  the  sun? 

Must  isles  go  down,  and  cities  drown, 
And  good  and  evil  be  as  one? 

The  great,  warm  heart  of  Mother  Earth 

Is  broken  o'er  her  Javan  Isles. 
Lo!  ashes  strew  her  ruined  hearth 

Along  a  thousand  watery  miles. 

1  hear  her  groan,  I  hear  her  moan, 
All  day  above  her  drowning  isles. 

158 


JAVA,  1883.  159 

Tall  ships  are  sailing  silently 

Above  her  buried  isles  to-day. 
In  marble  halls  beneath  the  sea 

The  sea-gods'  children  shout  and  play; 
They  mock  and  shout  in  merry  rout 

Where  mortals  dwelt  but  yesterday. 


My  kingly  kinsmen,  kings  of  thought, 
I  hear  your  gathered  symphonies, 

Such  nights  as  when  the  world  is  not, 
And  great  stars  chorus  through  my  trees. 

Such  songs !  such  holy,  silent  songs, 
As  keep  the  Pleiades  in  place; 

As  thrill  the  shining  angel  throngs 
When  listening  God  leans  His  face. 


160 


THE   PASSING  OF   TENNYSON. 


WE  knew  it,  as  God's  prophets  knew; 

We  knew  it,  as  mute  red  men  know, 
When  Mars  leapt  searching  heaven  through 

With  flaming  torch,  that  he  must  go. 
Then  Browning,  he  who  knew  the  stars, 
Stood  forth  and  faced  insatiate  Mars. 

Then  up  from  Cambridge  rose  and  turned 
Sweet  Lowell  from  his  Druid  trees  — 

Turned  where  the  great  star  blazed  and  burned, 
As  if  his  own  soul  might  appease. 

Yet  on  and  on  through  all  the  stars 

Still  searched  and  searched  insatiate  Mars. 

Then  stanch  Walt  Whitman  saw  and  knew; 

Forgetful  of  his  "Leaves  of  Grass," 
He  heard  his  "  Drum  Taps,"  and  God  drew 

His  great  soul  through  the  shining  pass, 
Made  light,  made  bright  by  burnished  stars. 
Made  scintillant  from  flaming  Mars. 

161 


162  THE   PASSING    OF    TENNYSON. 

Then  soft-voiced  Whittier  was  heard 
To  cease;  was  heard  to  sing  no  more; 

As  you  have  heard  some  sweetest  bird 
The  more  because  its  song  is  o'er. 

Yet  brighter  up  the  street  of  stars 

Still  blazed  and  burned  and  beckoned  Mars. 


And  then  the  king  came;  king  of  thought, 
King  David  with  his  harp  and  crown.  .  . 

How  wisely  well  the  gods  had  wrought 
That  these  had  gone  and  sat  them  down 

To  wait  and  welcome  mid  the  stars 

All  silent  in  the  light  of  Mars. 

All  silent.  ...  So,  he  lies  in  state.  .  .  . 

Our  redwoods  drip  and  drip  with  rain.  .  . 
Against  our  rock-locked  Golden  Gate 

We  hear  the  great,  sad.  sobbing  main. 
But  silent  all.  .  .  .  He  passed  the  stars 
That  year  the  whole  world  turned  to  Mars. 


NOTE. —  It  may  be  a  bold  thing  to  sing  by  one's  own  great 
sea-bank  instead  of  abroad,  as  before;  but  I  have  faith  in 
my  own  people,  and  believe  the  time  has  come  to  keep  one's 
work  at  home.  I  hope  to  follow  this  soon  with  "Songs  of  the 
Sierras"  and  "Songs  of  the  Sunlands,"  revised  and  complete. 

The  London  and  Boston  plates  of  these  books  having  been 
worn  out,  publication  was  suspended  till  such  time  as  the 
revised  works,  with  some  additions,  might  be  ready  for  the 
press.  Meantime,  while  I  was  in  Mexico,  irresponsible  parties 
in  Chicago  issued  mutilated  and  unauthorized  editions.  It  is 
due  to  all  concerned  to  state  that  it  is  not  only  unlawful  to 
handle  all  these  Chicago  poems  as  well  as  the  editions  published 
in  Canada  by  some  of  the  same  parties,  but  they  are  an  impo 
sition  on  the  reader,  as  many  lines  are  left  out,  and  also  many 
lines  inserted  that  are  new  to  the  author. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 
The  Hights,  Oakland,  Cal.,  1896. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


3     1935 

DOT  3  I  1939 


OCT  3  0  195C 

4    1950^ 


PormL-9-15m-7,'31 


PS 

2397  Miller  - 
5696  3on£s  of  the 


1896  soul. 


UC  SOUTHERN  RFrinni  A  i 

Iii 

000066424   3 


JOHN  M.  PRYSE 
Books  on  Occultism,  Cali 
fornia  and  Pacific    Islands 
LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

AT 

LOB  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


